Branded By Lies: Aftermath
by Greenangelwings
Summary: Twenty years after that fateful night during Hermione's sixth year at Hogwarts, her daughter Rose begins school. Memories and feelings return, and old scars are reopened with a vengeance... Full summary inside. HGMM.
1. Summary

**SUMMARY**

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Twenty years after that fateful night during her sixth year at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger is grown with a family of her own. Despite years upon years of attempting to clear Professor McGonagall's name, the pain and the guilt linger still. Now as her daughter Rose begins school, the memories and the feelings return and old scars are reopened with a vengeance.

Meanwhile, Rose began to frequent an odd bookshop specializing in restricted titles during the summer months, therein meeting the mysterious, and a bit cold, emerald-eyed witch who runs it. Following a confrontational meeting, the two form an unlikely friendship. It isn't long before the two become close, and Rose helps her new friend confront lingering demons, helps her out of the darkness and back into the wizarding world.

As time goes on, Hermione begins to wonder just where her daughter keeps wandering off to, and why she is suddenly assaulted by fleeting glimpses of her supposedly dead professor in the corner of her eye as when she shops in Diagon Alley.

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**AUTHORS NOTE:  
This story will be about six to seven chapters long, with each chapter being a single year apart, starting in June and ending roughly in September.  
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**It has elements of HGMM, HGRW, and some minor fluff involving Rose and a fellow classmate. There is also a bit of violence and minor swearing in some chapters.  
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**I hope you enjoy, and please be sure to leave a line if you read. It makes me happy and lets me know I'm actually writing to an audience and not just sending things into the void of cyberspace.**


	2. Summer 2016: The Bookshop

**AUTHORS NOTE:  
So here it is; by popular demand, I present chapter one of the sequel to Branded By Lies. I highly suggest you reading that before you look at this.  
**

**This story will be about six to seven chapters long, with each chapter being a single year apart, starting in June and ending roughly in September.  
**

**It has elements of HGMM, HGRW, and some minor fluff involving Rose and a fellow classmate. There is also a bit of violence and minor swearing in some chapters.  
**

**I hope you enjoy, and please be sure to leave a line if you read. It makes me happy and lets me know I'm actually writing to an audience and not just sending things into the void of cyberspace.  
**

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***.JUNE, 2016.***

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Hermione watched the speaker at the head of the room babble on about how the justice system in the Ministry had been under significant remodeling, his tone boring and uninspiring.

_It's not how I would have presented it at all,_ she thought._ It would have felt much more alive, and meaningful if I'd done it._

Well, there wasn't much to do about it now. She was there just as an observer for this after all.

He talked about focusing on hard evidence, and facts, and corroboration and alibis and all that, about how these changes would spare hundreds of innocently charged individuals.

It was what Hermione had been working towards ever since she joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She knew most of the people didn't believe it, that most of the speakers weren't too keen on the idea of actual investigational work; but quite frankly she didn't give a damn how much of an inconvenience it was for them, or how many more people the Ministry had needed to employ because of it.

She never wanted to be a lawyer, or work in law enforcement, but…

…after what happened, it felt somehow fitting to make a change.

When Hermione thought this, she felt a deep ache in her chest and had to take a deep, calming breath. Of course, no matter how fitting it was, it didn't make her feel any better when she recalled—even so briefly—those events of long ago; twenty years, to be precise.

"Mummy, how much longer are we going to stand here?" Her daughter tugged on her robes.

"Please, Rosie, just a little while longer."

"You promised it wouldn't be long," said Rose. "It's so stuffy here."

"If you hate it so much why aren't you with your father?" asked Hermione, harsher than she had intended. Rose recoiled, and she immediately felt guilty for hurting her daughter's feelings. She took her hand and gave it a small squeeze. "Dear, please…be patient. This is important to Mummy," she added gently, but Rose just took her hand away and folded her arms.

Rebuffed, Hermione looked back towards the presentation. As dull as it was put, it seemed to be going rather well—at least there hadn't been any outbursts leading to a huge argument, and thankfully so. The last thing she needed was for witches and wizards to be at each other's throats with her ten-year-old daughter watching.

Ah, yes… her daughter… Hermione glanced back at her child, who seemed completely disinterested in the whole presentation and was slumping against the wall, arms still tightly folded. She often wondered why, if they girl didn't care for the presentations, why she would always come with her to them. Surely she would have more fun with her father, Ron, and brother, Hugo, over at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

She shook her head just a tad and looked back towards the speaker.

By the end of the lecture, as the speaker asked if there were any questions, she had pleasantly noticed that there had been numerous hands that went up, and the question it hadn't been a snobbish remark.

She waited a few more minutes before she sighed. "Alright dear, now where did you—" but when she turned her head to look at her child, she registered with alarm that little Rose wasn't standing beside her any longer.

"Oh, that girl!" exclaimed Hermione and quickly exited the store.

She went up and down the alley, going into every store, looking in very crack and crevice—every possible place that her daughter might have gone. By the second time around the panic she had tried to hide was starting to come to the surface. She was about to take out her wand, when she noticed at the edge of the alley, her Daughter stood at strange looking building with her face against the glass.

"ROSE!" She screamed, both relieved and angry.

Rose immediately jumped and spun about, looking at her Mother, her eyes wide with fear. Hermione immediately stormed over and grabbed her by the arm, tugging her close.

"What do you think you're doing? You had me worried sick!"

"I just—"

"No excuses! Don't you ever run off like that again!" snapped Hermione, and held Rose close to her, "Ever."

"I'm sorry," said Rose with a wavering voice, on the verge of tears. Hermione took a calming breath and rubbed her back soothingly.

"Oh, shhh, don't cry. We can go to Flourish and Blott's now. You can pick out any book you like." Hermione took her daughter's hand and walked with her back to the bookshop.

Hermione really did feel guilty every time she snapped at the girl—but she was so frustratingly curious sometimes! She had so wished that Rose had taken her aptitude for limiting her exploration to literature.

…speaking of exploration, she thought back where she had found her daughter looking at. She had never seen the shop before. It sat on the very edge of Diagon Alley; a tiny little thing, twisty and crooked, to a point where it seemed a small breeze would knock it over, and though it wasn't exactly far from the other stores (in fact it was only a few short steps) it felt very isolated. She had noticed there were books upon books in the store—she supposed they could have gone in, but she was too frustrated to realize it at the time.

When she paid for Rose's new book—some Muggle fantasy series called Discworld—she made a mental note to go back to the strange store at some point.

She was still surprised that she had never noticed the store before.

***…***

Unlike her mother, Rose had noticed the store three months prior. She had never seen it before then. It was the type of place that was very unnoticeable—that is until you DID notice, and then it was simply too interesting not to investigate. Perhaps it was under a spell.

The first passing had been an accident—she hadn't known what kind of store it was at first. She had tried to peek in, but the shutters were closed so completely, it was no use.

There was a sign on the door—wooden with a large, stained glass window in the center of a landscape of some sort—that read, "BE BACK IN...3 Months, 4 Days, 6 Hours, 21 minutes, 9 seconds... 8 seconds… 7 seconds…" the numbers melting into each other as the seconds passed. She had stared for the 5 seconds it took to get to 20 minutes. Back then, she thought one could make time go faster, if one made time uncomfortable enough. Her Aunt had appeared and carried her off before she had a chance to test her theory fully.

Nevertheless, as luck would have it—exactly 3 months, 4 days, 6 hours and 18 minutes later, she had snuck away from the speech her mother brought her to, and made her way back to the spot. She watched with amazement—for even witches and wizards weren't perfect—when the timer got to 3 seconds, a figure in a dark cloak walked briskly from the shadows to the door, unlocked it, and entered—the shutters were up just as the timer ran out and the sign spun around with the large print "OPEN".

It was then that she saw the colossal amount of books piled up in the store through the two small picture windows. Through the stacks of books, she could faintly make out a woman taking off her cloak and putting it to the side. She had crossed the street and tried to get a better look inside, but the second she did, her mother had found her. Her mother had been so angry with her that she didn't dare ask if they could go inside, and just followed her to Flourish and Blott's instead.

A short while after she had asked her Uncle Harry to take her to the store while Aunt Ginny and her cousin James were shopping for school supplies. Her Uncle at first thought she was mistaken—he had never heard of it before. However, once she managed to drag him along to the spot, he had been amazed. What a wonder to hide a bookstore out in the open like that. She had excitedly gone to the door, had just been about to open it, when her Uncle grabbed her arm.

_You can't go in there, _he said quickly. She had been adamant, curiosity eating away at her, but he shook his head and pointed. She looked up and saw a sign she had never noticed before.

NO CHILDREN, it read.

She was very upset. Surely, ten years old wasn't that much of a child was it? But Uncle Harry had taken her to another shop and bought her a candy instead.

A few days later, she found out just why such a sign hung atop the bookstores door.

While one of her night-time secret ventures into her mother's study, she had found mention of a very rare book, inside it was overflowing with all sorts of painfully complex ancient spells and enchantments, so detailed it was possible to create unique spells based on them. Anxious to learn more about it, she had tried to look it up in the other bookstores in Diagon Alley. No one carried it, and after some clever and witty chatting, she had managed to trick the shopkeepers into telling her that it was considered dangerous—Dark even.

"That shop down at the end of the Alley would sell that trash," one of the bookstore keepers had said without thinking. "They carry all sorts of dark things there—terrible place."

She didn't hear anything else the shopkeeper said. She just slowly backed out of the store and hurried home.

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***.AUGUST.*  
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Now, Rose was standing in front of the shop again, her purse held tightly in her hands. It was strange; she had been planning this for two months, yet once she was standing in front of the store—it all looked very… scary, and intimidating. She questioned whether or not she really wanted to do this just to read the book.

The answer was yes.

She took a breath, steeled her nerves, opened the door, and stepped in.

Inside the store, which she expected to be cramped and dark and muggy and mold-smelling, was in fact decently sized, very well lit, cool, and had the scent of parchment, old books, and something she couldn't quite place—not bad, just unfamiliar.

She looked at the towering books. They were everywhere, in the shelves, and on the small tables, even on the register counter. It was almost like stepping into a personal library. It was a wonderful feeling. She walked to one of the shelves and looked in amazement—there were books on everything from magical theory to transfiguration, jinxes and hexes to charms and enchantments. It was as if all the best things in magic were crammed into one place.

Her fingers hovered over one of the spines—not daring to actually touch the leather.

"What are you doing here?" the angry voice split the warm atmosphere of the store like lightning. She jumped, letting out a tiny yelp of fear, then immediately spun about towards the voice.

In the far corner stood a tall woman, dressed in a black frock with—nice but odd for the weather—a tartan shawl, and hat, cocked to one side, which cast a shadow that covered most of her face.

"I'm here for—" She made to walk towards The Lady, about to open the purse.

"Don't come closer!" The Lady barked, quickly backing behind the counter. She seemed flustered. "You aren't supposed to be here!"

Rose stopped and stayed where she was, shocked at The Lady's reaction. There was silence for a little while, and The Lady slammed her fist on the counter, causing her to jump again, but made no attempt to move closer.

"Why are you here, girl?"

"I'm just—"

"Can't you read? It clearl—"

"Of course I can bloody read!" Rose finally snapped, frustrated and flustered at not being able to speak. "I read the sign, disregarded it, and came in anyway. So stop acting like I'm stupid, stop shouting at me and let me talk!"

The Lady seemed taken aback by this answer, and didn't reply.

"AND, my name isn't "_girl_", it happens to be Rose," said Rose firmly before taking a deep breath. She was inwardly amazed she had actually spoken out to an adult, and was quickly feeling very embarrassed. Well, at least The Lady didn't seem angry anymore—more like shocked. She forced herself not to blush—she figured she might as well just continue.

"Now; if you're quite done… the title of the book I'm looking for is _Bulla Antiquus Priscus_. None of the other stores carry it." Rose took the purse and tossed it across the way, which thankfully landed on the register counter.

The Lady, who had slowly turned from being shocked to annoyed, ignored the purse and just kept looking towards her. It was a little intimidating, but Rose stood her ground, determined. After a few minutes, The Lady finally spoke.

"And what does a girl like you want with a book like that?" she asked, her arms folded across her chest.

"I've heard that it's one of the most detailed collections of ancient magical theories and enchantments. I'm very interested in the subject; most of the books I've read were… alright, but lacking." Rose said.

The Lady then seemed to consider the purse and then back to her. She took a step forward, close to a lamp, and Rose could see the shopkeeper's green eyes.

_Even greener than Uncle Harry's, _Rose thought, but she pushed the thought back and focused on the task at motioned towards her purse on the counter, silently giving permission to the shopkeeper to open it. However, The Lady didn't; instead she picked it up and tossed it right back. Rose caught it easily, and looked up at her with confusion.

"That book isn't for sale, especially not to little girls who can't follow rules." The Lady said firmly. "Now leave."

"I'm not looking to buy it." Rose said, as if this was obvious—which she thought it was. "I'm just looking to read it," and she threw the purse again, but it was a little more forcefully then intended, and she instantly winced, thinking it would smash into the stack of books behind The Lady. Amazingly, however, without even looking, The Lady caught the purse in her left hand and then set it back onto the counter in one fluid motion.

"…you're trying to bribe me into allowing you to read the book?" The Lady asked, as if speaking to someone a bit slow. Rose was a bit flustered, but forced herself not to get mad again.

"Not bribe, just… well…" Rose tried to explain herself, "Even if I could read a few chapters—that would be acceptable."

"Seems rather silly," said The Lady.

"Like you said; it's not for sale." Rose folded her arms. "I have one hundred galleons in there. See for yourself."

The Lady then opened the purse, and then emptied it into what appeared to a scale that was beside her, next to the register—the galleons caused the scale to be imbalanced, and on the top, the number "100" appeared. Ah, it wasn't a scale, it was a counter.

"Seems a wee bit much for an allowance," The Lady glanced at her, suspicious.

"Two months' worth of allowance, actually," Rose quickly clarified. The last thing she wanted was this Lady alerting the authorities under the assumption she had stolen it. Well, she took about ten or fifteen galleons from her Mother's wallet, but The Lady didn't need to know that part. "And some from chores for my grandparents, and my birthday money is in there, too. I've been saving since I found out you had the book."

The Lady, who hadn't moved since they started talking, slowly walked to the edge of the counter, looking straight at her. Rose was silent, and stood up straight with her chin held up. This Lady was very intimidating, but she wouldn't let the older witch get the better of her.

"And you want to read the book that much?" The Lady finally asked.

Rose nodded emphatically, starting to feel nervous The Lady would just turn her away after all this.

The Lady leaned on the edge of the counter, and considered her once more. "And your parents know you're here?"

"Well, no—I told my Uncle I would go to Gambol & Japes and make a list for him." Rose said. She allowed her nerves to show just a bit when she bit her lip, as The Lady looked back to one of the shelves and tapped a finger on the counter, thinking.

"How long before you're missed?"

"Around an hour and a half? He thinks the only thing I do fast is read." Rose watched as The Lady got a very unimpressed look on her face and glanced back at her with those green eyes. "Well—I definitely have forty-five minutes."

At first, when The Lady rounded the counter, facing away from her, she thought that The Lady was just going to send her away. Instead, to her surprise, The Lady turned and emptied the Galleons back into her purse—all except twenty-two.

"I think twenty-two Galleons for forty-five minutes is far, don't you?" The Lady tossed the purse back to Rose, who fumbled with it a bit before getting a good hold and stuffing it forcefully into her pocket. "Follow me."

Rose quickly did so, and almost tripped over herself when The Lady spun about on her heel and said very loudly, "Not so clo—I mean, fast!"

Odd, The Lady had a hand to the side of her head and a slight wince. Perhaps she was very sensitive to sound? She had read something about witches like that in her Mother's study.

After The Lady turned back around and walked off, she gave her a few steps head start, and slowly—trying to be as quiet as possible—followed.

Rose had to do her best to restrain a ecstatic giggle when she watched The Lady open a glass bookcase and take out the book—very beautiful black leather with golden, shimmering letters all around it—and laid it out on one of the tables. When Rose sat down, The Lady pulled out a wand and flicked, and the hourglass on the register counter flipped upside-down, red sand starting to seep out into the lower half signaled the start of her time.

She was just about to open the book when the woman bent down on the other end of the table, at eye level with her.

"Move it and you'll be leaving without your hands."

Rose gulped, nodded, and watched silently as The Lady walked back to the register counter; she noticed the witch took the long way around, staying as far away as possible. Once she was gone, Rose quickly turned her attention to the book, carefully opened it, and began to read.

Best twenty-two Galleons she ever spent.

Once the time was up, she had read only finished the first chapter. It truly was one of the most intricate things she had ever read in her life. So much detail, it was extraordinary—she loved it.

"I'll be back to read the rest," Rose promised as she stood in the doorway. "Miss… um… I'm sorry what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," The Lady muttered, not looking up from what looked like a notebook.

"Well I've got to call you something," said Rose.

"I don't hold with names." The Lady said. "Now leave before I curse you."

Rose wasn't sure if she was joking or not, so she played it safe, quickly leaving the shop. She headed back to her Uncle George's joke shop down the road—Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—with a bounce in her step.

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**And here is the first chapter, and the first year.**

**PS.  
"The Lady" is written as such in standing for a name. It is intentional.  
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	3. Summer 2017: Madam Esmeralda

**Glossary of Symbols:  
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** ... = scene break.  
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***...* = POV change  
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** *.* = flashback or dream sequence.  
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***.JUNE, 2017.***

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Rose found any excuse to be brought to Diagon Alley—each time doing what she said she would as quickly as possible before running off to the crooked bookstore at the edge of the Alley. She would give her whatever she had, earned from extra chores or her weekly allowance, and The Lady would give her double the amount in reading time.

At first, The Lady didn't talk to her. She barely acknowledged Rose was there, other than taking the money and setting up a reading area for her, but after a while she seemed to slowly warm up to her. In fact, The Lady had even started to offer her something to eat before she left. Ginger Newts, she called them. Apparently, that was the unfamiliar scent—she had never smelled it before since ginger wasn't allowed in her house. It gave her mother terrible headaches.

For her birthday, she had bought thirty minutes reading time when The Lady noticed the pretty hairband that Aunt Ginny had given her.

"New?" she had asked.

"Yes—my Aunt gave it to me for my eleventh birthday yesterday." Rose said.

"Your birthday was yesterday?" The Lady asked, casually.

"Oh no, it's today. She and my Uncle are just out of town today." Rose was a little confused when The Lady looked down at her with a shocked expression. "What?"

"What? Why on earth are you here then?"

"Well, I wanted to read." Rose said. "And I like it here. I'd come see you every day if I could."

The Lady seemed flustered at this. Rose didn't know what she said wrong, but The Lady quickly put the book on the table and hurried to her usual spot at the register counter. Rose felt rebuffed, though she didn't know why, but since she had already bought her time, she sat down and read her book.

When an hour had passed, she closed the book and stood up from the table. After brushing off her skirt, she turned and headed towards the front of the shop.

"Leaving already?" The Lady asked from her seat at the register counter.

"Well it's been thirty minutes," Rose said, motioning to the hourglass.

"I think you may want to check again." The Lady replied, not once looking up from the account books.

When Rose looked at the hourglass, she was surprised to see it still had a long way to go… actually it looked like nothing had fallen at all.

"You do want to get your money's worth, don't you?" asked The Lady softly.

Rose blinked and then realized what The Lady must have done. She couldn't help but smile. She realized The Lady didn't want to be thanked—so Rose just said "Yes," and went back to her table.

Of course, when she put the book on the far edge of the counter thirty minutes later, she had to ask.

"So when is your birthday?"

"I've forgotten," The Lady said. "At my age birthdays are a painful thing."

"Oh you sound like my mom—besides you can't be that old," Rose said, looking the woman up and down. "What are you, thirty?"

"Not even close," And that was all The Lady said on the matter, but not unkindly. "Good day, Rose."

***…***

Hermione had been noticing an odd habit within her daughter over the past year. The girl would constantly ask to be brought to Diagon Alley to help with George's joke shop or meet with friends, but once there insisted she didn't need her to stay.

It had come to the point where George had asked exactly what he had her doing, he told her that she helped with a few errands here and there, sometimes deliver local packages, and she took an awfully long time to do it, though for some reason he hadn't gotten any complaints. When she asked her daughter's friends, of which there was only two, they told her that after about an hour or so Rose would say she had to help her uncle and leave. George also corroborated this; so she didn't doubt that's just what her daughter was doing.

She wondered why Rose wanted to be an errand girl all of a sudden. She didn't really think it applied to anything the girl wanted to do career wise.

Of course, she didn't know how to bring it up—she didn't want to seem like she didn't trust Rose, or she had been snooping around-so she decided to leave it alone… for now.

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***.JULY.***

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As time had passed, The Lady didn't seem to mind when Rose asked questions about the books or passages, nor when she tried to have conversations.

Now Rose didn't only go to read books, she went because she wanted to see The Lady again.

The Lady was very knowledgeable; she wouldn't have been surprised if the storekeeper had read all the books herself before putting them on the shelves. Though as much as she enjoyed The Lady's company, she couldn't help but feel like they couldn't be friends if she didn't know The Lady's name, but the subject was completely off limits.

Finally, one day Rose stood at the edge of the counter watching The Lady, who was reading over a list.

"What about Emerald?"

"…what about emeralds?" The Lady said, slumping back in her chair. Rose beamed with triumph, for the woman did not look frustrated—she looked interested. It was exhilarating to know that she was beginning to become more comfortable with her.

"Not emeralds—Emerald. The name; what do you think of it?" Rose came around the corner and rested on the edge of the counter. The Lady scooted her chair back a tad anyway though.

"It's nice."

"I'm going to start calling you it."

"It's not that nice." The Lady raised an eyebrow.

"Well I've got to call you something!" Rose said, exasperated. "And if you won't tell me your name the only alternative is to invent one."

"Lady Shopkeep is perfectly suitable, if you so desperately need a title." The Lady said simply. "I don't hold with names, I've told you that."

"You know mine," Rose pointed out.

"You gave it without consideration of my wishes—quite forcefully if I recall." The Lady replied, looking at her list with a smirk, and Rose turned a shade pinker.

Rose pouted and folded her arms over her chest defiantly. "Well it isn't fair that I should be called by name and you as your occupation."

"I could call you 'daughter' then."

There was a rather long stretch of silence afterwards—Rose could swear she saw The Lady's cheek turn a shade of pink.

"Why Emerald?" asked The Lady finally. Rose figured it was an effort to draw away from her silly suggestion. She went along with it.

"Your eyes—they're a brilliant shade of emerald." Rose explained, picking at the edge of the wooden counter. "I thought it was fitting—Madam Emerald, it has a nice ring, don't you think?"

The Lady tilted her head, sighing heavily, seeming annoyed. She didn't fool Rose though, she was just putting on a front.

"Sounds like a tram—" The Lady stopped short looked at her—as if noticing something and then quickly cleared her throat. "Umm, not very common, is it?"

"Well what about Madam Esmeralda? Esme for short," Rose quickly said—not wanting to really make The Lady annoyed. The Lady seemed to consider this for a moment, and there was another stretch of silence. Rose began to fidget; worried The Lady wouldn't take kindly to the idea.

"That would be… agreeable, I suppose." The Lady considered slowly.

Rose beamed with pleasure, and The Lady even gave her a small smile back. Rose almost didn't see it though, because as quickly as The Lady did smile, her face returned back to her usual neutral expression. "Times up, Rose, you can see yourself out."

Rose felt a little sad she had to leave the wonderful store, and her new friend, but she made her way to the front door anyway. While she opened it, she looked back.

"Madam Esmeralda Emerald," The woman snapped her head up from her list to look at her oddly. She just smiled brightly in return. "Now I can call you either one! Besides—you need a last name so I can send you letters from school. Okay bye!"

Rose ran out of the store before "The Lady", who from now was Esmeralda Emerald, could say anything against it.

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***.AUGUST.***

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It was the 25th, and Rose was feeling a little blue. It had been a great year, and getting her Hogwarts acceptance letter in June was one of the most exciting things of her life. She had been anxious to go—she even tried on her Hogwarts uniform several times. She wondered if she would be sorted into Gryffindor like her parents and how many new friends she would make.

However, now that day of her departure was so close she had realized something. She wouldn't see this store—or Esmeralda—for months…

"What's wrong, Rose?" Esmeralda asked. Rose looked up from her book to the register. For once Esmeralda was actually looking at her. "Not a good read?"

"No, it's not the book." Rose said, resting her chin in her palm and her elbow on the table.

"Too warm?" Esmeralda picked up her wand. "I can bring you some ice tea."

"No, it's not too warm." Rose said, glancing down at the book again. There was the tapping sound—Rose had heard it enough times to know it was Esmeralda drumming her fingers on the counter.

"I don't care for games, Rose. Either tell me what's wrong or don't."

"It's stupid." Rose grumbled, embarrassed.

"Fine," Esmeralda said curtly. Rose felt a little bad and risked a glance. Esmeralda was writing, rather forcefully, in a notebook while looking back at a catalog every now and then.

Rose continued to read, but the bad feeling kept rising more and more. Finally, she closed the book and got up from her table. Quietly she walked towards the counter, pausing about two feet away, resting on the corner of a wall.

"I'm going to Hogwarts in a few days."

Esmeralda stopped writing, and it may have been Rose's imagination but she could swear her grip became tighter on the quill.

"Yes, you are eleven aren't you," Esmeralda said, but it wasn't a question.

"…I'm going to miss coming here, that's all." Rose said.

"…well… I must confess I've grown accustomed to your company." Esmeralda said, not looking up. "It will be a bit lonely while you're away."

Rose felt a burning in her chest, and she quickly raced across the room and wrapped her arms around Esmeralda in a hug, awkward as it was with the older woman still seated. Esmeralda stiffened, and for a moment, Rose questioned if she would demand that she leave. Rose was shocked when she felt a slight pat on her head… and then something wet. She looked up and saw Esmeralda's face… she looked like was in pain—a single tear had escaped her green—no—emerald eye.

Rose recoiled as if she had been burned by fire, falling back to the floor.

"I hurt you."

Esmeralda's face went from pained to fearful.

"Rose…"

"That's why you don't come near me—I hurt you." Rose was stunned. Esmeralda quickly stood and moved away from her. Rose felt awful—she hadn't meant to hurt her… and as Esmeralda stood there, looking afraid, she felt even worse, and she started to cry. "I hurt you and now you hate me—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it!"

Rose would have kept crying for hours, but Esmeralda held her. Rose had tried to pull away; worried about hurting her friend, but the older witch would have none of it. She didn't let go until Rose had stopped sobbing.

When she had, the witch led her to sit down in a comfortable armchair in the backroom, made sure she was okay, and gave her a glass of water before she once again resumed staying at a safe distance. By that time, poor Esme's jaw looked as if it would never open again because it clenched so tightly. Rose felt guilty for being the cause of all that pain.

It took a good while before Esmeralda could speak again.

It was then that Esmeralda told her a story—she had told it in a very vague way, giving as little details as humanly possible; there were no actual descriptions, or names, or places, but generalizations. The reason that she was in pain every time a child was near her.

"But you didn't do anything wrong," Rose said, and while Esmeralda had never said she did or didn't, she said it because she couldn't imagine that Esme could ever hurt anyone—even if she was a little scary the first time they had met last year.

"No," Esmeralda said firmly, but then immediately softened her voice. "But… perhaps they were right about me for even getting myself into that situation."

Rose frowned, and Esmeralda continued to stare off, not willing to look at her. They were quiet for a good long while. It was clear to Rose that this last comment was taken more to heart then it ever should have been. Esmeralda would never hurt a child.

"I don't believe that," Rose said. Esmeralda didn't seem to believe her, and she sighed and thought hard about what to say. Finally, she looked up at her again. "Have you ever thought about doing something bad to me?"

"Never!" exclaimed Esmeralda, appalled at the very idea. Rose smiled when the witch realized the extent of her own reaction, and became quiet, considering this.

Rose didn't really know what else to say after that, so she didn't say anything. Either way, she was sure now more than ever, if they hadn't quite been friends before, they certainly were now. It was unavoidable.

**…**

The next time she visited, two days before the Hogwarts term started, Esmeralda was more relaxed then Rose had ever seen her.

Now Rose was still a child, and there were a lot of things she didn't fully understand, and there were a lot of things that she didn't know, but it was obvious to her whatever bad things Esmeralda was blamed for, it was something big enough to make the older witch scared for a long time. She was happy her friend wasn't so scared anymore.

During this visit, Rose had tried to buy some reading time, but Esmeralda wouldn't take her money. She said quite simply, "I think you've paid in enough now, dear." and gave her the book, along with several others.

Rose wanted more than anything in the world to give her the biggest hug. She settled for dancing around her in joy. Esmeralda laughed.

***.SEPTEMBER.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

On September 1st she boarded the Hogwarts Express at platform 9 ¾, along with her cousins James, a second year, and Albus—who was also going to Hogwarts for the first time—and waved goodbye to her parents, baby brother, and her Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry. As excited she was to go to school, she couldn't wait to come back home—and back to Diagon Alley.

She sent Esmeralda a letter later that night after she had been sorted and settled into her dorm.

_Dear Esme,_

_Today was the first day at Hogwarts—it wasn't anything really big. Well, actually, it was—there was a feast and hundreds of students and the sorting hat, and it was just—wow!_

_Speaking of the sorting hat; guess which house I got put into? Ravenclaw! I'm a little nervous; Dad mentioned to me that he'd disown me if I didn't get into Gryffindor, but I think he was joking. Mom told me he was, anyway. I really hope he was._

_Anyway, I've finally gotten to the last chapter of the book. It was such a great read—and I have it all memorized by heart now—but reading in my dormitory bed is nothing like reading in the nook at the shop. Well, now I'm going to start reading the book my Mum bought me last month for my birthday now. I'm probably going to finish that in a day or so though, so I hope it's good._

_I hope you are doing great, Esme, and I hope I hear from you soon._

_Your friend,_

_Rose Weasley. _

She sent it out the next morning, but she didn't get a reply for a very long time. So long in fact, Rose had worried if Esmeralda had forgotten all about her. Every week she sent Esme a new letter, updating her on how she was doing, what was happening, and all sorts of things. On the last letter, at the bottom of telling her how she had gained twenty points for her house after completing a potion before anyone else, she added,

_Why haven't you written me back? Have I said something wrong? Have I upset you? Do you not like Ravenclaws?_

The following day, the reply came along in the massive flock of owls during the morning post. It was a little metal tube, inside of which was a small piece of parchment.

_Dear Rose,_

_I have received and read every single one of your letters. I apologize for not writing earlier. _

_I received a nasty shock around the time your letter came. Although, quite honestly, perhaps I've been being a wee bit foolish. Please know that I am not upset with you at all, and you have done nothing wrong. _

_Moreover, I happen to hold nothing against Ravenclaws; they are a very respectable house with fewer troublemakers per capita than the other Houses, generally, and they are truly blessed to have someone like you amongst their ranks. I promise you I will not leave you hanging for so long—at least intentionally—again._

_chapter 7, section five, 3__rd__ paragraph. OE_

_chapter 20, section two, 7__th__ paragraph._

_Owen_

Rose didn't need to wonder what the last part meant; it was quite simple really. The line first referenced a location in a book Esme had given her before the start of term about types of owls, notably the type of the one that had brought her the message. The next referenced a very complex protective enchantment from the book her friend had given her. She understood that her friend would only accept or send letters through one owl, and would enchant them so they couldn't be read by anyone else.

Rose assumed whatever bad thing people thought Esmeralda had done was the sort of thing she could get in trouble for if anyone found out they were friends.

Despite this somber revelation, she smiled as she read the signature.

_Madam E._

Rose quickly wrote a reply at the Ravenclaw table.

_Dear Esme,_

_I understand, and that's okay. I'm just so glad you didn't forget me. I don't have time to write much now, but I'll be sure to write up another letter by tomorrow for Owen to deliver._

_Your friend,_

_Rose._

She slipped it into the tube, which a plain brown owl—she assumed it was Owen—snatched from her fingers and flew up and out with the rest of the owls. She tried to memorize what he looked like, but he blended quite brilliantly with the other owls.


	4. Summer 2018: Ginger and Parchment

**GLOSSARY:  
**

** ... = scene break.  
**

***...* = POV change  
**

****** *.* = flashback or dream sequence.**  


* * *

***.JUNE, 2018.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

For Hermione, the year passed far too slowly. Though she delved herself into work at the Ministry, and being home with Hugo, she missed her daughter terribly. She really couldn't imagine being without both her children… and didn't like thinking about the fact that it was just another year before it would happen.

Hermione sat in her study, reading one of the more recent letters Rose had sent her from Hogwarts. She would be leaving to pick her up from the station in just about two hours, but refreshing her memory about what was going on with her daughter couldn't hurt. Besides, she wanted to get different ideas on things they could talk about.

She sent Rose letters three times a week, but she only got replies, at best, every Monday—sometimes it would be two weeks before she received anything. She felt a little rebuffed, but she forced herself to remember what it was like to be in school that first year. Delving into class work, practicing, reading all those books in the school library… not to mention all the trouble new friends would drag you into; little time for anything else.

Hermione smiled a little to herself. She wasn't at all surprised when her daughter had written that she got sorted into Ravenclaw. She certainly was intelligent.

_Just like her mother,_ she thought with pride.

But as she thought about Hogwarts, her pride gave way to sorrow, as it often did when the subject was brought up. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the memories.

It didn't work.

It never worked.

***.***

"_No!" she screamed, fighting against the Auror who held onto her arm, and twisting away from the second who stood before her, a hand on her shoulder._

_They had swept into the office, silent as the grave, and taken her out of Minerva's office. Immediately she had tried to get back in, but they restrained her… within minutes she had watched as they took away Minerva in chains. _

"_STOP! She didn't do anything! Stop it! Don't hurt her!" She tried her hardest to run after the other two Aurors who dragged Minerva along, but the one at her side held tightly to her arm, painfully so._

"_That's enough, Miss Granger," said the other Auror, who was there to interview her. "You're obviously under some kind of spell. It's alright, dear. We'll make it all better."_

"_I'm not under a spell—why won't you listen to me? She didn't do anything to me—she never touched me! She would never touch me! Please—stop!" She begged, still struggling against the tight grip. Down the corridor, she saw the Auror dragging Minerva twist her arm when the witch did not follow fast enough. Minerva gave a sharp cry of pain. "STOP!" _

"_She did touch you, dear, and that's okay," said the Auror, with misplaced sympathy._

_She was desperate. She bit the hand of the Auror who held onto her—doing anything she could to make him lose his grip on her arm. It worked—he let her go, but it didn't do any good. _

_After this, all she could remember was breaking free for just a second—before she could even try to run she felt a surging pain hit her back, and she fell to the ground, unable to move._

"_Don't worry, dear, we know it isn't you. We'll make everything better." _

_Everything went black after that, and once she did manage to wake up, she found herself in a white room in a hospital bed. Dumbledore stood at her side, telling her that Professor McGonagall was in Azkaban._

***.***

Hermione shuddered and held herself tightly. She hated remembering that night. She hated the look on Minerva's face when the Minister had come into the office, hearing her pain. It made her sick to her stomach.

Why couldn't they have listened to her? Why after weeks of interviews, two months of examinations without finding a single enchantment in effect, couldn't they believe her? Why?

Why…?

A sob raked her body, and a hand shot to cover her mouth. Slumped into her chair, her eyes screwed shut as the painful memories flooded her head and pierced her heart.

***.***

"_Miss Granger, please—" a representative, she didn't recall a name, had tried to reason with her._

"_NO!" Hermione shouted so loudly people passing by stopped and stared for a moment before moving on. She was standing in the Ministry of Magic, wearing a blue formal dress suit, ready to defend her teacher tooth and nail, only to be denied entrance by some pathetic looking man with a wig sitting with a white cat next to him. "How many times do I have to say it? I am a witness in Minerva McGonagall's trial! Three months—three goddamn months I've been telling the bloody Ministry what happened. Now once they tell me I can make a statement—now that I'm finally here—you say they can't bloody see me?"_

_Before the lawyer had a chance to open his mouth, she continued. "Shut up! I don't care what you have to say, I'm going in there—getting up in that chair, and tell them the truth! Professor McGonagall never laid a hand on me! Now let me pass NOW or I swear to god I will turn you into a rat and feed you to my cat!"_

"_It's not that simple," said the short pathetic looking man. Hermione was ready to take her wand out and curse him. The only reason she didn't was because of what he said next. "Professor McGonagall is dead."_

_Hermione stood there. Horror struck her heart like a train. She felt as all the blood in her face just drained away._

"…_no."_

"_There was an explosion—an escape attempt at Azkaban. It happened right where they were holding the trials… It killed the criminal, and several Aurors. The rest of the jury and the Judge survived, thank goodness."_

***.***

Hermione had turned him into a rat after that last comment, and while she didn't feed him to Crookshanks, she hadn't stopped his own. It hadn't helped her feel better, though she had managed to avoid formal charges (after all, she couldn't control other people's pets). Even so, she didn't feel anything other than painful sadness and anger for a very long time.

Professor McGonagall was never proven innocent, not even after her death. Not even after Hermione made hundreds upon hundreds of statements to the ministry, and to newspapers—to anyone who would ask, adamantly stating that she had never once been molested or abused by her professor.

_Dead._

Her professor was dead… and it was her fault. She never forgave herself for that, and she never forgave Malfoy for spreading that damn rumor in the first place. She had tried to get Malfoy arrested for murder, or for falsifying a case, or even permanently banned from Hogwarts. None of it worked. No one wanted to smear the name of a pure-blood, certainly not Malfoy, and certainly not for a Muggle-born like her.

"Mummy?" a tiny voice called.

Hermione gasped and quickly wiped her eyes with the end of her sleeves. She couldn't let her son see her like this.

"Oh—Hugo—yes…" Hermione sniffed and turned around in her chair, looking to her son, who was standing timidly in the doorway of her study. "What is it?"

"Are you okay?" Hugo asked. He still stood in the doorway—he knew he wasn't supposed to come into her study. He rarely broke that rule… unlike his sister, whom Hermione knew would sneak in during the night to read her books, though she never brought it up.

"Oh, I'm fine." Hermione smiled, though it felt fake and cheap, and got up from her chair to walk to her son. She knelt beside him and hugged him close, "I just miss your sister is all."

Hugo thankfully didn't pry anymore. Hermione buried her face into his red hair, and pushed down all the pain and all the regrets... just as she had done a million times before.

It was a few minutes before she let Hugo go and smiled at him.

"Let's go get ready to pick up your sister, okay?"

***…***

When the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, Rose was just finishing reading Esmeralda's latest letter.

_Finally, I must add that I believe the latest attempt of the boy to be that of a purely innocent nature. However, if he continues in his pursuits, you could always bring the issue to your Head of House, who would then discuss the matter with the Head of Slytherin. I don't think you should pay much mind to him._

_I hope you enjoy your summer, dear, and look forward to your company at the shop._

_Madam E._

Rose smiled a little bit. Well, if Esme said it wasn't anything to worry about she wouldn't pay the matter anymore thought. She noticed some fine print at the bottom and held it up closer to read it.

_PS, _

_For Merlin's sake, stop giving Owen treats when you send him back—he keeps coughing up the carcass right when a costumer walks up to the register. It's rather unsettling._

Rose couldn't help but break into a fit of laughter. Albus and James stared at her oddly, but she quickly cleared her throat and stuffed the letter into her pocket.

"Who keeps sending you those letters, anyway?" Albus asked.

"A friend," Rose said. "Oh look—our mums are already here."

Rose had grabbed her bag and rushed out of the cabin.

***...***

When Rose rushed off the train, Hermione quickly pulled her into a crushing hug. Of course, she only knew it was crushing because Rose grunted and said, "Mum—I can't breathe."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Rosie, I've just missed you so much!" Hermione said, releasing her. She looked to her nephews and smiled, "Hello, boys."

"Hey Aunt Hermione," said James. Albus waved a little—Ginny had him in a hug just as crushing as the one she had given Rose just a moment before. She tried not to laugh, while Hugo and Rose simply let their amusement show… rather loudly in fact. She swatted their heads softly from behind. "Oh, shush you two."

After they gathered their children's luggage and got it on the carts, the two mothers said their goodbyes and parted ways, each with their children in tow.

Hermione listened as Hugo and Rose talked animatedly about Hogwarts. She listened as Rose told Hugo that she was the one of the few students to know how to properly fly a broom before the first flying lesson—not surprising; thanks to their father's obsession with Quidditch, the two of them had learned very early on.

"I can't wait until I can go onto the house team." Rose said. Hermione couldn't help but shake her head. Despite how alike they were, things like this reminded her how much the girl was like her father.

Once they had gotten to the car and started driving, she let her daughter and son keep talking until there was a lull, just as they pulled into their long winding driveway that led up to their house.

"It sounds like you had a good year," Hermione said, turning into the small garage. "Did anything interesting happen in the last few weeks?"

"Of course, Mum, you already know about that." Rose said. Hermione, confused at this and fully stopped, looked at her daughter with a small frown.

"You haven't sent me a letter in three weeks."

"No, I sent you one on Monday."

"Dear, you didn't send _me_ anything." Hermione raised an eyebrow, quickly becoming suspicious as her daughter seemed to realize something and turn her head back towards the window.

"Oh… right."

"Oh, right, what?" Hermione set the parking break.

"Oh—nothing." Rose said casually, quickly unbuckling herself. "I wrote letters to you and my friend on Monday, I suppose I thought I sent them both out at the same time."

Hermione didn't like how fast Rose got out of the car and rushed inside, nor how excited she was when they went inside to find a package waiting for her.

"Who is that from?" Hermione asked.

"My friend," Rose said. "I'm going to my room—to get settled." She snatched up the small parcel and raced up the stairs without another word.

"Rosie's got a boyfriend," Hugo teased loudly after his sister.

"Shut up!" came the positively furious reply from her daughter's bedroom before the door slammed loudly.

_A boyfriend, huh?_ Hermione didn't know if she felt amused or worried. She settled for not paying it much mind as she read the rest of the mail.

***…***

Rose quickly jumped onto her bed and opened the package, positively shredding the wrapping.

She practically squealed in delight as she held the brand new lightweight tartan shawl in the Ravenclaw colors. A small note was attached to the end.

_I got sick of your constant badgering for one._

_Madam E._

It wasn't cold, but she put it around her shoulders anyway.

***…***

Hermione paused in front of Rose's door, knocking. "Rosie, lunch is ready."

"I'll be out in a minute, Mum!" Rose called from inside.

Hermione made to leave, but stopped dead in her tracks as a painfully familiar scent assaulted her senses.

***…***

Rose had already hidden the shawl when the door to her room slammed open. She gave a shout of surprise, and looked up to see her mother standing there with an unfamiliar… and yet somehow scary expression.

"What. Is. That?" asked her mother very slowly.

"What is what?" Rose asked, confused by the sudden appearance.

"That smell," her mother said.

Rose realized that her mother must have caught whiff of ginger that lingered on the tartan scarf. Goodness, her mother had a nose like a dog. She quickly tried to come up with an excuse, not wishing to explain she had received it from a friend—since that would mean she would have to explain how she met this friend. She was sure if she let her mother know about where she spent most of her spare time, that she would be forbidden from ever visiting it again. After all, no matter how elusive, it _was_ considered a bookshop for restricted and otherwise dark books.

When her mother took a step into the room, she backed up into her nightstand. With a loud clank, an old tin of the Ginger Newts fell to the floor, popping open in the process.

Rose and Hermione looked at the tin at the same time. When Rose looked back up, however, her mother was still staring.

"I—I know that I'm not supposed to have food in my room…" Rose said nervously. "…but I know you can't stand the smell so I kept them up here."

Hermione was very quiet, and Rose worried she was going to be grounded the first day back home. Slowly her mother came into the room, and picked up the tin.

Rose backed away from her mother, unnerved by the silence. A moment later, she was shocked to see tears suddenly come to her mother's eyes.

"M-Mum?"

"Get washed up for lunch." Her mother said quickly, and then left the room. She took the Ginger Newts with her.

* * *

***.AUGUST.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

The summer was rolling by far too quickly. It was already the 1st and it felt to Rose, who was now sitting in a nook in the backroom of Esme's shop, that she had just gotten back home from school. She was now determined to spend as much time with her friend in the shop as possible before she started her second year at Hogwarts.

"So if I dangled a bit of yarn in front of you, would you attack it?" Rose asked loudly, looking over the edge of the latest book, through the archway. Esmeralda groaned from her seat at the front counter.

"I knew I shouldn't have fallen asleep like that." Esme said with a sigh.

"It was funny watching you flip out when I petted you." Rose giggled when her older friend rolled her emerald eyes in response. Rose put down her book as Esmeralda turned towards the front, obviously to ring up a costumer who had walked up. They had arranged her spot so she could look out into the shop, and that she could see the edge of the back counter where Esmeralda would sit, but out of view of the front of the register, thus the costumers couldn't see her.

This summer had been an eventful one, at least as far as she and Esmeralda were concerned. Esmeralda had begun to tell stories about herself as a child; fantastic stories about growing up in Scotland, and her years at Hogwarts, and a little into the career she went into right after. By about now, Rose had heard most of the stories up until the older witch was about nineteen.

"When I'm older, will you tell me about your crushes?" Rose asked.

"What?" Esmeralda arched an eyebrow, surprise evident in her voice.

"You're not about to tell me in nineteen years you never had one." Rose smiled when poor Esme actually blushed. "Ooh, maybe something more?"

"Wicked child." said Esmeralda, looking back to her register and picking up her cup of tea. "Aren't you supposed to believe anyone who isn't married and over twenty has never been kissed?"

"I'm not that stupid," said Rose, rather proud of herself. When Esmeralda took a sip, she added, "I even know that parents do it."

Esmeralda choked on her tea and spun around to look at her. "Do _what_?"

"You know, cuddling and kissing and stuff. In bed." She said the last part in a whisper as if it was the naughtiest thing ever. Esmeralda looked at her for a long while and then burst out laughing. "Hey, what's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing dear, I'm just shocked." Esmeralda didn't seem shocked though, she sounded amused. Then she turned serious and pointed at her. "I'd better not get a letter about you doing anything like that."

"Eww!" said Rose, sticking out her tongue. "All the boys at school are gross."

"Good, that's just what I wanted to hear." Esmeralda sounded pleased and turned back to her counter. "By the way, do you know where I put my glasses?"

"On the shelf to your right, Esme," said Rose. The bell on the door chimed, and she watched as Esmeralda once again stood from her seat to silently ring the costumer up.

Costumers never stayed long in the shop—generally speaking, anyone who knew where the shop was, and what was inside, came with a very specific book in mind. Rose never heard than a few words exchanged between her friend and the wizards and witches that would buy a book.

Rose couldn't help but notice just how long Esmeralda's hair was—today was one of the rare times she kept it in a ponytail instead of a bun at the back of her neck—the ebony locks ended just above her waist.

Once the bell ringed again, signaling the patron had left, Rose put down her book.

"Can I braid your hair, Esme?" Esmeralda turned around and looked at her stiffly. "I can do it from here, don't worry."

Esmeralda put her hands on her hips and looked at her with a small frown.

"Come on—you'll be helping me practice my levitation charm." Rose said, wiggling her wand between her fingers. After a minute, Esmeralda finally sighed and took her hair out from the ponytail, and ran her fingers through it, separating it into three parts.

"I swear if you make any knots in it—"

"I won't, now sit down and stay still."

***…***

It was the 15th, and Hermione should have been out running errands while the kids were at their Uncle's joke shop. Instead, she sat in her study, rereading a very old piece of parchment for the hundredth time. She had acquired it nearly eighteen years ago, stolen her first day working within the Ministry, but she had been too scared, too ashamed to read it.

It was _her_ last words, a complete transcript of the trial, the minutes leading up to that fatal explosion.

Around five years after getting it, however, one night where she had drunk a little too much wine after a huge fight with Ronald, she found herself taking it out of her desk and unrolling it.

Needless to say, upon reading the thing she sobered up right quick… and proceeded to burst into tears.

Now as she held the tin of Ginger Newts her daughter had somehow to acquire, a tin that looked too much like the one that would sit on Professor McGonagall's desk, she found herself reading it again, and again felt the burning of her eyes.

It wasn't often that one found out that the professor they fancied returned their feelings.

Hermione closed her eyes and pushed the parchment away. Well a lot of good it bloody did. Minerva was dead. Hermione's feelings had gotten her killed.

Hermione rested her head on the desk, held fast onto the tin, and let her mind wander.

As guilty as she should have felt desecrating the memory of a dead woman, she still couldn't help imagining how different her life would be if that rumor hadn't started, and she had been given the opportunity to tell Minerva how she felt after she graduated. She couldn't help the fantasies, and hopes she had within them.

She imagined starting a courtship, trying to be the perfect lady for the older witch, and how things would have progressed. It would have been painfully slow for the first year or so, but once they had their first night together, everything went together perfectly.

She imagined moving in with her, perhaps starting a family with her; either by adoption or magical means, watching their children grow as Minerva worked as Headmistress of Hogwarts, and Hermione—after working at the Ministry for a while—would go on to teach either Potions, or Transfiguration, or perhaps even Charms.

She imagined waiting until after curfew before sneaking into the Headmistress' private quarters and seducing her precious wife away from paperwork. She shuddered as she envisioned undressing her slowly, piece by piece, and kissing newly exposed flesh, and once she teased her too much, being quickly flipped back and pinned by a positively growling, but smirking, and flushed Minerva.

She imagined Minerva sucking and biting her neck, marking her, claiming her…

The idea made her groan, and her head rolled back, the dream so vivid she could almost feel Minerva's breath on her skin, skillful hands running down her body.

Hermione gave a sharp gasp and jumped when she heard a knock on her study door. She spun about to stare at it.

"Oy," muttered a voice from behind the door. It was Ron. The irrational fear of being caught cheating came instantly, though there was no possible was Ron could know whom she was thinking about. "You alright, Mione?"

She took several calming breaths before answering, "I'm fine."

There was the jiggling of the doorknob.

"What is it?" she snapped. Ron knew she didn't like it when he tried to come in without permission. This was her space—where she went to escape.

There was a moment of frustrated silence, it was obviously frustration because she knew he didn't like that she locked the door, just as much as he didn't like being put out from a room in his own house.

"The kids are gone," he said. It was obvious what he wanted.

She gave a frustrated groan, but it was too soft and short for her husband to hear. She put the tin down and got up, crossing the room. When she opened the door, Ron was gone, but their bedroom door was open. She sighed and leaned against the door frame.

Damn, it figured he would bother her _now._

**…**

As she performed her wifely duties, the scent of ginger mixed with parchment lingered and she closed her eyes. With them closed, and her ears tuning out any sounds in the room, her mind wandered back to her previous fantasy. Of course, he thought she was ready because of him. Ha! How wrong he was. It wasn't him kissing her, caressing her; it was someone else, someone far more skillful with their tongue, far more talented with their fingers, far more beautiful…

She moaned her name, but Ron didn't seem to notice, and if he did, quite frankly, she didn't give a damn.

***…***

Too soon, it was the 30th, and Rose stood outside the store, looking up at the signs. It was hard leaving Esmeralda's shop for a lot of reasons. After two years she had now come to regard the place as a second home, and Esmeralda her best friend—a big sister. What made it harder than it had to be, however, was because she couldn't even give a proper goodbye.

It wasn't that Esmeralda hadn't offered, but Rose was too afraid.

"I don't want our goodbyes to involve you getting a migraine." Rose had said.

"It's not as bad as all that." Naughty Esme had lied. Rose knew that being too close, not just to her but to any child, gave the older witch intense pain.

"I wish you could see me off," Rose had commented. Esmeralda frowned.

"Oh, dear—"

"I know. That would just make your brain explode."

Rose had settled for waving an enthusiastic goodbye, to which Esmeralda smiled and waved back, albeit sadly.

Rose sighed and looked down, seeing Esmeralda standing in the picture window watching her. When their eyes met, Esme tilted her head questioningly. Rose just smiled back and waved again.

A costumer had walked into the shop after that, and Esmeralda had left the picture window to tend to whoever it was. Rose decided she should leave then, otherwise be tempted to linger.

She headed back down the street, dodging and weaving through the thick crowd. This was probably what she liked the least about Diagon Alley this time of year—everyone was rushing about buying last minute supplies instead of, like her mother, getting them as soon as they knew what was needed for the school year.

Speaking of her mother… just as she rounded the corner, narrowly avoiding a massive collision between herself and two older boys, she saw an all too familiar bunch of bushy brown hair. Instantly she dive-bombed into a crack between two buildings and huddled close to the ground, hiding. Her mother passed her by without noticing her, thank Merlin.

Now the reason she was hiding from her mother in a dirty and somewhat scary alleyway was that, quite simply, she had claimed that she was going to stay at Flourish and Blott's while her mother went into some of the other stores. Well, that would be all well and fine, but that shop was at the other side of the alley—she had no excuse for being in these parts.

She waited until her mother ducked into one of the shops before bolting into the crowd and racing towards the bookshop.

***…***

The 31st. Esmeralda stood silently in the picture window of her shop, looking out into the crowded streets of the alleys. She never ventured out this time of year—not until well after nine, not until the streets had thinned and all the hustle and bustle—and children—had gone.

It had never been hard before—in fact she had come to enjoy it in her fifteen years as a (relatively) free woman. But yesterday as she watched the young girl leave and go into the throngs of people, being pushed about, she had a powerful urge to rush into the streets and walk with her, protect her.

But it wouldn't do any good. Even if she had stepped out from the safety of her shop, all the screaming and laughing little children would set her head into an unbearable agony. She would more than likely collapse in the street and proceed to be trampled on by unknowing patrons.

Rose knew this and she never asked her to venture outside, just wished.

What Rose didn't know, however, was that the spell that caused the pain she had learned the reversal to last year.

It had been on accident, really. It was from a new book she had come into possession of, having been purchased during an estate auction out in one of the nearby towns—one of the only reasons she would leave her shop. It was nearly as old as her.

Inside, it described the mark that was scared upon her forehead, which now stayed hidden beneath a red tartan sash, the rim of her hat, about a pound of makeup and a glamour charm—one could never be too careful with such things, even the quickest glimpse of the mark from any Auror could cost her everything.

Esmeralda turned away from the window and looked at her sanctuary. It had taken her years to get the place, though it held itself fairly well. That's the good thing about selling rare and restricted books, patrons who want them badly enough will pay an arm and a leg for a title, but, generally speaking, she would attain them at much lower prices, or even free, depending on how stupid the last owner was. It truly amazed her how often she would come across a treasure trove in someone's bin (not literally of course—she would never stoop so low as to root through someone's garbage. Never again.).

Owen made a sound from his perch on the far end of the shop. She glanced over at him, noting with some amusement and disgust that he had once again coughed up the fur and bones of one of Rose's treats.

_Oh, that girl…_ Esmeralda shook her head and put her hands on her hips.

The girl had been so determined the first time she met her, stubborn, almost fierce. It was impressive, and so had allowed her to stay. She had no idea that the redhead would weasel her way into her heart, make her feel something other than cold bitterness for the first time in so many years.

She even let Rose "name" her. At first it had been a little odd, but now it felt natural, like her name had always been Madam Esmeralda Emerald.

Ah, such an amazing child. It had been crushing to learn she was a Weasley.

Esmeralda remembered that time all too well. When that letter came, Rose's full name on the bottom, she had let out a scream and dropped the parchment as if it was fire.

That name brought back so many memories that she couldn't find the strength to write the girl back. Her mind had tormented her with visions of every time she had cursed the Weasley name over the years, every time she had to go to the streets, or had to struggle to survive and stay hidden from the prying eyes of everyone around her. The knowledge of the ever present possibility of being discovered by an Auror; it all just played over and over in her head like a never-ending reel. How could she not have known?

After an age of depression, and a steady flow of letters, she finally received the one that changed everything. The poor child had thought she had done something wrong. The old witch realized how foolish she was being, and quickly formed a reply.

Now she couldn't believe she had almost risked upsetting Rose, driving her away, being alone. She couldn't imagine a summer without seeing her young friend.

Esmeralda closed her eyes as her hand went to her forehead, once again thinking about why she couldn't bring herself to remove the curse.

Although she only felt a motherly (or sisterly, as Rose often insisted, because she believed her to be too young to be her mother; HA!) love for the child, and although Rose had severely lessened her belief of being the predator all those people had made her out to be, memories of the past filled her head.

"_And have you had sexual thoughts towards a minor?"_

"_Yes."_

Esmeralda shuddered. It was true; along with love she held a fear of Rose in her heart, though it was small, and because of that she hadn't removed the curse from herself.

If there was even the slightest chance that motherly love could change, that she could develop feelings once again, then it would be better to live with the pain—to be reminded of what happened before, and not let it happen again.

* * *

***.SEPTEMBER.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

It was September 1st, and Hermione stood on the platform 9 ¾ as Rose boarded the train, following her three cousins James, Albus, and Lily. Harry stood next to her.

"I don't know how you do it," Hermione said softly to him once the train had vanished from sight down the tracks. "I'm still in shock that Hugo is going next year. Here you are sending all of them off."

"It gets easier by the third time," he said, "But it's still a bittersweet thing, watching them all leave."

"I'd bet," Hermione sighed, glancing down towards the floor. It was then that she realized her daughter had forgotten a bag, which had shoe marks all over it. "Oh, damn it!"

Hermione picked up the bag from the floor and brushed off the dirt before quickly opening it. Sweet Merlin she hoped nothing was broken—she and Ron couldn't afford to replace any school supplies right now. When she unlatched the flap and looked inside a scent hit her and she froze.

"What's that?" he asked, glancing over her shoulder. He saw the shoeprints on the bag and winced a tad. "Anything important?"

She carefully extracted what looked to be remnants of a tin—Ginger Newts, which had been crushed inside the satchel and scattered over a tartan Ravenclaw shawl she didn't remember buying her daughter, a few books and several blank pieces of parchment.

"Well, it doesn't look that bad," Harry finally said when Hermione didn't speak. "Ginger Newts are pretty cheap."

"Not these," Hermione said, but she didn't really care about the price. The blank pieces of parchment bothered her. They certainly weren't new, so she couldn't understand why they were in separate pieces, and such small pieces—too small to write much of anything surely. And they had a faint scent… ancient and a bit musky, like they had been lying around old books for years.

And why was her daughter addicted to Ginger Newts all of a sudden?

She would have to send Rose a letter and let her know about the bag… and perhaps ask where she got the shawl. It looked rather nice.

***…***

Rose was freaking out a few days later. Her mother had sent her the bag she left behind, and the letter was filled with the usual be careful with your things and hope you have a wonderful year and blah, blah, what she was freaking out about was the last line in the letter.

_When you come home this summer I want to have a talk with you about where you've been getting these books._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE:  
Here is another chapter. Please be sure to review, let me know how I'm doing, ask questions, give me your opinions on what is going to happen next. Even a one word review will make me happy!  
**

**PS,  
Skipping July was intentional, as nothing significant happened in that month.  
**

**If you see any grammatical errors I deeply apologize. I proofed it several times, but you know how things go with these long chapters.__**


	5. Summer 2019: The Station

**GLOSSARY:  
**

** ... = scene break.  
**

***...* = POV change  
**

****** *.* = flashback or dream sequence.**

* * *

***.JUNE, 2019.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

Hermione was positively growling in frustration. Her daughter would be arriving home from Hogwarts within the hour, and her office was (literally) cram-packed by boxes of paperwork. As of right now, she was crammed between the door and a stack of loose parchment that looked ready to fall over at any second, waving her wand, attempting to clear a path for her to get to the desk.

When she had managed to open a "cold case" section of the Department, it hadn't appeared to be a big disruption to the everyday workings. She hired a decent sided crew to look at the old files and archives. At first, everything seemed to be going well, and she had even gotten more staff as time went on. However, Hermione began to notice the only cases coming out from the section were dated 1800 or earlier. She made a floor-wide memo that cases _in the previous and current_ centuries needed attention. The reaction had been less than friendly, as this meant that there were still surviving victims and innocent people that needed to be interviewed and facts which needed accounting for—which of course meant actually working.

And this was the result—all of the files that they "weren't sure" about, were brought to her to look at, see which needed to be attended to and which could wait. It hadn't been bad… at first. But now since it was summer, her staff was aching to get out of the musky office and out with their kids; just like she did. Thus, every single case box was questioned.

Well, she wasn't going to let them off that easy. So, with a path to her desk made, she crossed the room, she settled down into her chair, and took a breath.

She sent a message to her husband, telling him she would be working late and that he would need to pick up Rose. Then, resigning herself to her fate, she sighed and with a flick of her wand, the first box of the day—sorted by year—floated onto her desk.

***…* **

…_I want to talk to you about where you've been getting these books._

Rose was freaking out all term because of that line. She didn't want to tell her mother where she had gotten the books, it meant she would have to tell them about Esme. Her parents would never let her go to a restricted bookstore! If they found out, she'd never get to sit in her nook in the backroom, eat Ginger Newts, and drink tea with her best friend ever again. The idea was just horrifying—it was like the idea of losing a sister.

What was worse is that she didn't have anyone to talk to about it.

She couldn't even tell Esme…

Rose gave a loud sigh as she exited the train. She looked around, dread building up inside her as she looked for her mother, however, was mildly surprised to notice that she was nowhere in sight. She took her things and walked out onto the platform, looking around for either parent. Still nothing.

As the minutes rolled by, and the crowd thinned out, she started to feel a tiny bit nervous. At first she tried to look for her cousins, but pretty soon after that she remembered that Albus and James had gotten into some sort of Quidditch program this summer, so they wouldn't be back home until two weeks before the start of term. So of course her Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry weren't there.

After a little while, Rose found a bench and sat down, and within a minute had pulled out a book to pass the time.

Her mother or father would show up soon…

…right?

***…***

Hermione came home from the ministry completely exhausted. It was almost seven o'clock at night when she unlocked the front door and dragged her feet across the threshold.

_Oh thank God that's over… now to go take a shower, change and check on the kids._

***…***

Rose was close to tears. She had finished her book cover to cover, and her parents still hadn't showed up.

She shouldn't have felt so bad, she was going to be thirteen after all, but the knowledge her parents actually forgot about her was more hurtful than it was scary.

It was almost seven now, and she saw the commuters gradually get creeper and creeper as the minutes ticked by. She didn't feel like reading another book, and she didn't like how the passers by would stare, so she took her trunk and walked out of the station.

It started to rain.

***…***

Hermione gave a sigh of pleasure—she was nice and clean, relaxed from all the stress at work. Wrapping herself in a fluffy towel, she walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. She saw Ron sprawled out in bed, snoring obnoxiously loudly. She scoffed a bit and shook her head. Perhaps she'd sleep in the guest room—she didn't think she could deal with Ron's annoying sleeping habits tonight. She quickly dried off and changed into her sweatpants and tank top.

As she went to close her wardrobe, she caught sight of the scarlet red silk nighty Ginny had given her at her bridal shower. She didn't wear it; she never had. The reason?

The night before the wedding, she got an owl—an _owl—_from her husband-to-be telling her the honeymoon was off due to him and Harry going off somewhere for Auror business. She had tried to be understanding. After the wedding, she even offered to simply have a romantic dinner with him instead, to no avail of course. Two days later she found out the job had been _optional_. She lost her sympathetic viewpoint.

And so, after that, never once in their fifteen years of marriage had Hermione slept in anything other than comfortable pajamas that fit _her _best. The only "sexy" clothes she owned now were other gifts from her bridal party that stayed in boxes or crammed in the darkest corners of her wardrobe—never touched.

Hermione gave a small groan of disgust when Ron slobbered on her pillow. Yeah, she was definitely sleeping in the guest room tonight…

But first she wanted to see her children. The only good things Ron had ever given her.

She first went to Hugo's room first. She smiled at her sleeping son and carefully tucked him in, giving him a kiss on the head before exiting and shutting his door behind her. Next, she walked down to the end of the small hallway to Rose's bedroom.

When she opened the door however, she was mildly confused—how odd, in the darkness it almost looked like…

Her heart skipped a beat and she held out her wand.

"_Lumos,"_

The tip of her wand glowed violently, igniting the darkened room in a white light. The sight that greeted her caused her heart to skip a beat. The room was just as she had left it earlier that day…and her daughter was nowhere to be seen.

"_RON!" _as she stormed through the hall to her bedroom, the picture frames cracked and shattered.

She was going to murder her husband.

***…***

There was a thundering knock on the bookshop door. A silver tabby, who moments ago was slumbering peacefully on the doorframe beneath the heating vent on the ceiling, blearily opened one emerald eye and turned it towards the front.

It was already night, and the shop had closed about two hours earlier. Through the shutters, she saw an outline of a small person.

_Who in the world could that be?_

She leapt off the doorframe, easily turning back into the tall Scottish woman before landing on her feet. With her wand at the ready, she unlocked the door and quickly opened it.

When Esmeralda saw a shuddering Rose standing there in the heavy rain, blue eyes bloodshot and nose as red as her hair, her heart broke.

"Rose! What on earth—"

"M-Mummy and Daddy forgot about me." Rose stammered in-between loud sobs. It was then Esmeralda noticed Rose's Hogwarts luggage.

Esmeralda felt hot anger bubble up in her. That damn Weasley left his own child at the train station?

But she swallowed her anger and held her young friend tight.

"Come inside, dear." Esmeralda said while rubbing Rose's back, ignoring the searing pain in her skull as best she could. "I'll make us some tea."

***…***

Rose sniffled as she held her knees to her chest, staring at the cup of tea in front of her on the small coffee table. Esmeralda had brought her down into the basement flat after drying her off with a spell.

It was a small place with an open layout and limited furnishings; only the essentials were down here. All of the more lavish things were reserved for the store upstairs. But it wasn't bad; in fact she liked it a little more than the store. At least down here there was a fireplace to read in front of and a nice couch.

She glanced up from the tea to Esme, who was sitting right next to her and soothingly rubbing her back, though she was obviously in pain.

"Please don't sit so close—you're hurting yourself." Rose felt much better when Esmeralda rubbed her back and told her everything was going to be okay—but the knowledge that such an action caused her pain was heart wrenching.

"I'm more concerned with you, Rosie," said Esme, but her teeth were clenched.

"Please—you're making me feel bad," said Rose pleadingly. Esmeralda hesitantly moved away when she said that, going instead to the chair across the room. Esme had to take a few minutes before she could speak again.

"How did you get here, dear?" asked Esmeralda.

"I used the floo network…" Rose looked down at her cup of tea. "I didn't want to go home… so…I'm sorry I sho—"

"Rose, you know you're always welcome here," Esmeralda quickly cut her off. Rose was actually glad she did, because she was getting a painful lump in her throat at the thought of being turned away by her friend. "Why did you wait so long? Was it a far walk to a fireplace?"

"No… there's one in this inn near the station… it only took me about fifteen minutes to get there. I just—I expected my dad or mum or—_someone_—to show up." Rose said, sniffling again. "I didn't think they'd actually leave me all alone. I read a book to pass the time, but when I looked up it was late and the creepy people started showing up—"

"Creepy people?"

"You know, those people who only show up at night and have bloodshot eyes and smell funny and stuff…"

"Ah, night-time commuters. Go on."

"Anyway—I got kind of angry and scared… so I left. I was so mad that I came to Diagon Alley instead of going home." Rose wiped her eyes, furiously. She hated feeling like this. "I don't ever want to go home…"

It was quiet for a little while, and Rose realized how stupid she sounded. She ran her fingers through her hair and groaned. "Ugh, I'm acting like such a child."

"You are a child, dear." Esme said. Rose glared, but Esmeralda just smiled. "It's okay to be angry—but running away isn't the answer. I'm sure your parents are worried."

Rose wanted to argue that fact, but she just sighed. She was sure Esmeralda was right—both of her parents worked at the Ministry, and it wasn't the first time there was a miscommunication between the two about who was going to pick up who… of course usually her Aunt Ginny or Uncle Harry had been around to take her back home.

"I won't force you to do anything, dear…" Esmeralda trailed off. And though Rose knew that her friend wouldn't, she still knew what she had to do.

***…***

Hermione was panicking and screaming at Ron at the same time. After calling Ginny and Harry, one of whom stayed with Hugo while the other joined them in searching on a broomstick and was circling London, she and Ron had gone to the station only to discover that Rose had already left.

"How could you just leave her there?" Hermione shrieked at Ron, storming back to the car.

"Me? You were supposed to get her!" Ron yelled back at her, obviously frustrated and panicking just like her. She still didn't forgive him, though.

"I sent you a damn—" the loud ringing of her cell phone cut off Hermione's shriek. She grabbed it and picked it up frantically. "Yes?"

"It's Harry," said the voice on the other end. Hermione's heart skipped a beat with panic and hope, and it felt ready to explode with joy when she heard him say, "Ginny just told me that Rose showed up at the house. I'm headed there now."

"Oh thank God!" Hermione practically sobbed in relief. "We'll be right there!"

Hermione was in the car and speeding down the streets of London a second later—Ron had barely managed to climb in.

***…***

Rose sat quietly on the overstuffed couch in the living room. When she had flooed back home from the Inn in Diagon Alley, she had expected to see a dark house or her parents yelling at each other. Instead, she saw her Aunt Ginny pacing the floor with a cell phone to her face, seemingly talking to someone about her. She had been too amazed that her Aunt had actually braved the thing to react when the older woman saw her and pulled her into a crushing hug.

Within the span of a few minutes after that, her Uncle Harry showed up, followed by her parents. They had crowded her, questioning her, interrogating her. Finally, she had enough.

"STOP IT!" she yelled at them. They did.

Now she felt guilty.

"I'm tired. I want to go to bed." Rose said in a polite sort of way, to take the bite out of her earlier outburst.

It seemed to work, to a point. No one denied her or stopped her as she stood up from the couch, but they did have disapproving and concerned expressions.

And just to make sure they didn't stop her, she added, "I've had a really long day. Goodnight."

"Sweetie—I'm—"

"Goodnight, Mum." Rose said again, and quickly made her way upstairs and to her bedroom before any other attempts to apologize could be made—for those always ended up with her parents arguing over the blame.

**…**

Of course, after Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny left, they still did anyway.

* * *

***.JULY.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

The experience had shaken Hermione, who still could not believe her husband had completely ignored her owl—the reason her child was left alone at the station for close to six hours.

It also made her get Rose a cell phone for emergencies. It wasn't anything fancy—it was an old model Hermione had laying around with only a few hundred minutes; she felt better knowing that if there should ever be another situation that her daughter wouldn't have to solely rely on finding her way back home herself.

Although, since she was treading lightly with Rose, she had never gotten an answer as to why the girl waited so long to take the floo network to return home. She guessed however, it was more due to stubbornness than anything else, something that worried her as she considered the horrible possibilities of what may have happened to her child.

"Someone could have hurt you," Hermione had told Rose about a week later—once Rose had started talking to her again. "You shouldn't have waited so long."

"I thought you'd remember me," Rose had replied. Hermione felt a painful stab of guilt and hadn't said anything more on the matter. Rose held onto her hand afterwards though, perhaps to ease the pain.

It helped a bit… but not by much.

***…***

Rose didn't really know what was worse; being mad at her mother or feeling sorry for her. She knew what had happened, and how her father had ignored the message and that was why she had been left alone. She couldn't help but feel responsible when her parents started fighting more; she had been the one to stay at the station all that time after all.

Rose explained her feelings to Esmeralda in a letter, whom she could not go to see because her mother was almost constantly around—it was starting to get ridiculous.

Esme had told her not to feel guilty, but that the situation was too complex to give a simple "feel mad" or "feel pity" answer, and that she needed to sort through her feelings and perhaps have a talk with her parents.

It was the last thing she wanted to do. She didn't really like talking to her parents about anything too serious. Her mother would be too analytical while her father would be too aloof on the subject. Of course, even though they would be like this—they would have the strange and confusing idea that they were actually helping.

The only way it was helpful was that her mother had seemed to have completely forgotten about the books.

Oh well… hopefully her parents would stop acting as if she was a traumatized cat and give her some air fairly soon.

* * *

***.AUGUST.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

'Soon' had turned out to be several more weeks; when she had gotten the opportunity to see her friend it was already the 16th.

"I've missed this place so much!" Rose said, positively collapsing into Esmeralda's overstuffed couch. Esmeralda laughed.

"Ah, I see, so I'm just a cozy corner for you, am I?" Esmeralda teased while standing in front of the oven in the small kitchen. She had been cooking dinner when Rose had showed up.

"Of course not—I missed you too!" Rose said, sitting up and leaning over the edge to watch her friend.

Esmeralda flashed a quick smile before going back to cooking. Esme wasn't exactly a gourmet chief, but it was a whole lot better than the TV dinners her dad would make when her mother was at work… speaking of whom, the food reminded her a lot of her mom's cooking. It was nice.

For a brief instant, the thought of living with Esmeralda and having her cooking every night popped into her mind.

She imagined being there with Hugo, sitting in the living room, as she watched a scene play out. It was a familiar scene; one she had seen in shows on the telly or read in books many times over. The breadwinner would come home to see the wife cooking dinner for the family, and give her a brief and sweet kiss.

However, she didn't see a husband and wife.

She saw Esme… and her mother.

She scoffed, shocked at herself. What was that about?

"Food's done. Have a seat at the table." Esmeralda called from the kitchen, completely oblivious to the weird thoughts that were floating around Rose's head.

***…***

By the 30th, Hermione had given up trying to have a sit-down talk with Rose about where the books were coming from… at least for now—it just wasn't a good time.

The summer had already passed. Tomorrow Rosie would be on a train headed to Hogwarts for her third year—and this time Hugo would be leaving with her for his first.

It was a bittersweet feeling; pride was marred with sadness at the thought of such an empty house for most of the year.

But here she was, at six in the morning walking the street of Diagon Alley, before the crowds of children would appear, buying some last minute supplies for her son; who was undoubtedly off horsing around with his cousins with his father. She shook her head a tad, annoyed and amused at the idea.

Ah well, why not let him have some fun? Boys will be boys, after all.

Hermione was jarred from her thoughts when she turned a corner and smacked right into a witch headed the opposite way. Luckily, neither fell, and were simply stunned for a moment. When Hermione looked up to apologize, she saw a flash of emerald green, heard a loud pop, and stared at empty air.

The witch was gone, but she was still frozen.

That witch looked just like…

***…***

Esmeralda was pressed against the shut door of her bookshop. Only moments ago, she had been walking home from a quick run to the shops, and had accidently ran into another witch.

A lovely witch with brown bushy hair, and dark brown eyes…

She hadn't bothered to stay. She had Apparated straight to her sanctuary, and bolted the door tightly shut.

A million thoughts and feelings swirled around her haunted mind, crashing and fighting violently to the surface.

Horror, shock, fear, sorrow, anger… but the most powerful feeling was a painful overwhelming ache in a place deep within her heart, where she had locked away her feelings for over twenty years.

_Damn it._

Her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the ground.

_You're so pathetic,_ her mind hissed at her. She just sobbed and stayed there on the (rather dusty) floor, old feelings and old memories raping her heart and her mind.

…

Eight hours later Rose had come to visit. She had managed to calm down by then, and let herself enjoy the company. It was a welcomed distraction from the nightmarish morning.

As Rose sat in her little nook reading, Esmeralda watched her closely. Her mind began to wander and flashes of years gone by flickered in her mind.

She recalled a similar scene, a young Hermione sitting in the chair of her office, holding some book or other, often times pausing to have a discussion with her about something she had just finished reading.

Though the scene was the same, the atmosphere, the feelings… they were entirely different.

It was then that Esmeralda had a powerful revelation; it was a revelation that shattered all the lies, illusions, and scars that had lingered within her for so long.

Never had she viewed Hermione as a surrogate daughter or innocent friend as she did with Rose. She always had a lingering knowledge of what the small butterflies in her stomach—the ones did her best to ignore—meant.

When Rose left, Esmeralda closed up the shop and went down to her basement flat. She reached into her personal library, and slowly, carefully extracted the book she acquired two years ago; the one she thought she would never use. Whatever hesitations she might have had were abolished when the image of her former pupil flashed within her mind, compared to that of her young friend.

There were no doubts. There was nothing to be scared of.

* * *

***.SEPTEMBER.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

Hermione watched as Rose and Hugo boarded the train. The pair of them waved at her, and she smiled and waved back. Ron wasn't with her—he was away, working on some job for the Ministry with Harry.

The train started to move, and she walked along side it, continuing to wave as her precious children were carried off to Hogwarts. Just before it really picked up speed, she saw Rose stare off at something far away—a look of total awe came to her face, and the girl stuck herself nearly half out the window.

Hermione was about to scream for her to get back into the bloody car, but then her daughter had one of the biggest smiles she had ever seen, waving so hard that it almost looked like her arm would come off. One of the other kids tugged her into the car, thankfully, and then the train was gone.

She was stunned, and looked around the crowds to see whom Rose had been so happy to see.

She didn't notice the figure at far edge of the platform in dark emerald robes and a crooked hat.

And the figure didn't notice her.

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE:**  
**Here you go!  
**

**As I was proofing the chapters I felt like I needed a filler before the next chapter to even things out. Of course, its also final-time in college so it took longer than expected.**

**Since this story is already fully written, I've decided to post once or twice a week just to stretch out the time it's up, give more people a chance to see and read it.**


	6. AUTHORS NOTE: Apologizes for the Wait

**AUTHORS NOTE:**

**I felt bad about making you wait so long and think I've abandoned you.**

**Not true, but you'll have to wait a little longer. Before you start throwing things, my mother has been hospitalized and has been in limbo from emergency surgery and an extended stay to observe her. It's very stressful, and my time has been spent being with her for all day ((literally, from when visiting hours start at 7am to when they close at 9:30pm)) and otherwise too exhausted to do anything else. I haven't been by a computer for anything other than what is absolutely necessary.  
**

**I promise that the final chapters are coming; but right now I need to focus on my responsibilities and my family.**

**Thank you for understanding.  
**

**K  
**


	7. Summer 2020: Reunion

**AUTHORS NOTE:**  
**Thank you so much to everyone who left kind wishes for me and my mother. All of your good wishes and patience was touching-it even made my mother feel better (she says hi, by the way.)  
**

**She was released from the hospital finally, but she still needs a lot of care and has been keeping me busy. I can never seem to find time to really sit at the computer-any online stuff I'm generally doing from my phone (thank god for wireless) so I haven't been able to upload my stories. I have had a few minutes here and there to sketch and draw though, and am currently sketching illustrations for the story in my spare time. My mother is supposed to be getting a home nurse soon-within two weeks-so hopefully once that happens I'll be able to sit down in front of a computer, upload the chapters and get it posted-along with some cleaned up illustrations on my art site.**

**Thank you again, so much, for your understanding and patience... here's your chapter. You deserve it!  
**

* * *

***.JUNE, 2020.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

Rose was reading the last letter Esme had sent her, which arrived earlier that morning.

_Dear Rose,_

_I am happy you enjoyed the books I sent you. It was a trial to get Owen to carry them—he seems to think anything I enchant and give him is automatically for eating… I do wonder where he got that impression…_

She giggled a little. She could just hear Esmeralda's sarcastic tone in her head. Okay, so she needed to stop transfiguring things into mice for Owen's treats.

"Okay, seriously, who keeps sending you those letters?" one of her friends asked.

Rose smiled and shrugged. She ignored the mutters and mumbles of the girls around her, looking back to finish reading.

…_Oh, and I wish you all the best on your family trips to see your grandparents in Australia and Devon. Don't fret over possibly not seeing me—I'm sure I can survive a summer, though I can't promise the books you were reading will still be here when you get back. The oddest thing has started happening; there has been an alarming amount of new costumers, all within the last few months._

_I actually asked one of the costumers why he came. He said, and I quote, "Well, I needed this book, of course, and well, I saw that small gal come in here—ah, that is…" Of course, after this he cleared his throat rather forcefully and seemed embarrassed._

_In other words, dear Rose, it appears many men do not appreciate being up-staged by a little girl who is braver than they are. _

_With all this business, I am not sure whether to thank you or be annoyed that I actually have to talk to people now._

_All the best, your friend,_

_Madam E._

Rose laughed again and stuffed the letter back into her pocket just as the train came to a full stop at the station. Her friends had already started to get their things and leave. She quickly followed suit.

…

Her dad had come to get her, her mother being at some trial or another. He asked a little bit about school, but he mainly asked about Quidditch, and how badly she managed beat Mr. Malfoy's son, Scorpius, in exams. She didn't think he would really like the fact that against his warning, over the last year she started to become friendly with the young Slytherin.

She hadn't told anyone yet, but she did want to talk to Esme about it when she got the chance—but in person—such news shouldn't be sent in letters.

* * *

***.JULY.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

The trip to visit Hermione's parents in Australia had been a very joyous one. Her parents loved when the kids came to visit.

It was funny, she had sent them there and erased their memories to protect them from Voldemort, but once the war was over and she had returned them to their former state, the old couple had decided to stay. They had a lovely little house just outside of Sydney, and the two seemed quite happy there.

They had spent three weeks with them before heading on to the Burrow. Well, that had been the plan at least.

Once they had gotten back to England Hermione was called to work on an unusual case. She had insisted that Ron and the kids go without her, but Molly would have none of it and said it wouldn't kill them to wait the few days and all come as a family. Which basically translated into, "I know you and my son are having problems so I don't want you two being apart when you don't have to be."

It was the last day of July when the trial finally ended, two days later then expected, and Hermione came home exhausted, positively dragging her feet along the stone walkway to the front door. Well, at least it was over, and she could relax.

Or so she thought. When she opened the door, Hugo had quite literally slammed into her like a rocket, knocking her backwards. She fell and slammed her head against the stone stair of their small porch.

She heard George and Ron shouting and racing towards them.

**…**

It seemed Hugo had just seconds before been flung off a new experimental Weasley product; the Broom Wiggler. Apparently, it was supposed to cause the attached broom to wiggle and go the opposite of the intended direction, about causing discomfort for the rider. Instead, it got so temperamental it sent her son shooting like a cannon ball through the house.

"I've told you not to use my kids as testers!" Hermione had screamed at George, sitting at the breakfast nook while Ron looked at her head. She didn't know why Ron was back there—he was rather bad at healing spells.

"I wasn't! Hugo just grabbed the thing and started riding it… besides, it was working fine when I brought it over here." George was now looking at the now sated broom on the kitchen table. "I don't know what happened."

Hugo had been fine, of course, but had been sent up to his room to wait for a good talking to from his father.

"Just don't bring any of your joke stuff into the house," Hermione nearly snarled. "Ow! Ron, what are you doing back there?"

"Trying to help," he had snapped back at her.

"I just asked you to see if there was any blood. Ow! Ron, look—I'm sorry but you're not helping me by poking my skull with your wand." Hermione sighed, frustrated. She pushed him away and stood up. "I'm fine."

She didn't wait for Ron to speak, or George to apologize, she headed out of the kitchen and made her way upstairs to the bathroom—she'd check her head in the mirror and do a minor healing spell on herself to take away the pain.

Once she got to the second floor landing, she glanced over at Rose's open door. She noted that the girl was sitting on her bed and looking at—what appeared to her—to be a blank piece of parchment.

"Hello, Rose." She said, deciding just to use the mirror in Rose's room. She entered and walked over to the vanity.

"Oh! Mum h—what happened to your head?" Rose exclaimed after seeing, just as Hermione did now that she had a mirror, the blood in her hair.

"I hit my head—don't worry it's nothing serious." Hermione took out her wand and preformed the spell, within seconds she felt right as rain. She turned about to look at her daughter, then smiled and opened her arms. "Now come give me a proper hello."

Rose got up from her bed and hurried over to give her mother a hug and a peck on the cheek. She still held the blank parchment in her hand.

"Are you thinking about what to write?" Hermione asked. Rose looked confused. "You were staring at that blank sheet of parchment very intently."

"Oh—Oh?—OH!" said Rose, who went from affirmation, to confusion, to some sort of realization. It confused Hermione and she frowned. "Yes, I was trying to think of what to write to—"

"Let me guess; your friend." Hermione put one hand on her hip while the other rested firmly on the girl's shoulder. "Well, have you thought of anything?"

"Oh—well—no," said Rose. "Not yet. But enough of that, how have you been Mum?"

"You send letters to this person so often."

"Not really." said Rose. "So when are we leaving for the Burrow?"

"Do I know this friend?"

"No, you don't. I'm kind of hungry. Can I make myself a sandwich before we leave?"

"Sweetheart…" Hermione made sure to use her 'I know something is up' tone. It registered clearly on Rose's face that she didn't like it. "Come sit with me."

She moved them over to Rose's bed, and sat them down on the edge.

"Sweetheart, where did you get those books?" Hermione asked softly, putting her hand over her daughter's hand.

"I got them from my friend." Rose said.

"Is this the same friend who has been sending you those Ginger Newts and that tartan shawl?" Hermione tilted her head a bit to keep Rose's eye when she tried to look away.

"Yes," said Rose. She seemed nervous about something.

"Dear, I'm not sure if you know but those books are—"

"I'm old enough to read them," Rose blurted out before she could finish her thought. Hermione sighed and smiled a little.

"I wasn't going to say that." Hermione said, "When I was your age I would often read books that were meant for much older readers. That's not what I'm concerned about. What I'm concerned about is where your friend is finding all these old, rare books. Most of them are considered restricted you know."

"Esme gets them at estate auctions and sometimes her costumers bring in—" Rose quickly looked like she had let slip something she hadn't planned on saying. Hermione was taken aback.

"…her costumers?" she repeated slowly.

"Well—that is—I mean… yes."

"Sweetheart, how old is this girl?"

"I don't know." Rose said, but then quickly continued, "What I mean is, she's—"

"Dear, is this Esme… is this friend who you've been talking about… _an adult?_"

When Rose hesitantly nodded her head, she wasn't sure if she should have been fine, a bit confused, a little angry, or worried.

* * *

***.AUGUST.***

**.**

**.**

**.**

When the door burst open to Esmeralda's shop so violently it nearly came off the hinge, she instantly drew her wand and spun about, ready to curse the intruder. She was shocked to see a soaking wet Rose standing in the doorway.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, not again! Is this going to become a habit with you?" Esmeralda quickly tugged her inside the bookshop and closed the door behind her. "It's not even raining!"

"Fl—flew through a rainstorm… to get here… broom's outside drying."

Esmeralda quickly took Rose through the shop and into the backroom. Once she had the girl sit she quickly preformed a warming spell, drying off all the rain from her young friend.

"You're going to be mad at me," Rose said, seeming very worried.

"Okay, I'm sure it's not that bad. Hold on—calm down, dear. Deep breaths, in and out, that's it…" coaxed Esmeralda. Rose had only done one or two when she blurted out.

"My Mum asked where you live."

Esmeralda was deeply confused, and waited for Rose to tell her the horrifying news.

"…and?" said Esmeralda once Rose didn't speak—just had that terrified look on her face.

"And?" repeated Rose, "Why aren't you cross with me?"

"Well, why would I be? I figured they would want to know about the owner of the bookshop you've constantly been frequenting." Esmeralda said. She didn't think much of it. After all, she had gotten past the fact that Rose was a Weasley a long while ago, and had been steeling herself and planning for such a meeting since she did; but if it was just the mother then it couldn't be that bad. "I'm just surprised she hasn't asked to meet me yet."

Esmeralda immediately noted the look on her friend's face, and she gasped.

"Rose!" exclaimed Esmeralda in a scolding tone.

"Esme!" said Rose with a pleading one.

"Don't Esme me, girl, you promised you would ask permission before you came here!"

"Well, I did—I asked if I could go to Diagon Alley. They always said yes." Esmeralda didn't feel any better about this. Rose frowned. "Oh Esme don't be mad—they wouldn't understand."

"Well I'm sure they're just _so_ dreadfully understanding now!" Esmeralda groaned and put a hand on her head. "Oh Merlin… are you here as a 'my mother is going to kill you' sort of visit or 'you have to go into hiding'?"

"Um, neither." Rose said while biting her nails.

Esmeralda instantly felt a small sense of relief. If she didn't have to go into hiding, and wasn't on someone's death list, it couldn't have been that bad.

"Ah, well, that's good then. Nothing to worry about—and don't do that, dear, that's disgusting." Esmeralda swatted Rose's hand away.

"My Mum wants to meet you."

Esmeralda felt her heart skip a beat. She of course had just said she was surprised that she hadn't been called upon for a parental interview, but the reality of it—that and the situation—struck her hard.

"Oh…" Esmeralda slowly said. It took a moment or two to process this, but afterwards she felt confident about the whole thing. She stood up and walked over to a pot of tea she had been letting steep before Rose had barged in. She poured herself a glass, while making plans in her head, "Alright, that's good, we can get everything straightened out, then. I can make some arrangements and take your Mum out to tea next week to chat and—"

"She wants to meet you today."

Esmeralda spun about, inadvertently pouring tea on herself. She gave a sharp gasp, and quickly put the kettle back onto the counter, then proceeded to clean up the mess with her wand. She looked at Rose, shocked.

"_Today?" _breathed Esmeralda. She sputtered for a second more before old instincts took over and she took a breath. What was she so worried about? So she meet Rose's mother today instead of next week—it was better that way! Get it over and done with now instead of letting the other woman's mind wander and come up with all sorts of wild ideas in a week's time. "Well, I suppose a dinner would—"

"Actually… she wants to meet you in an hour."

"WHAT?" shouted Esmeralda, it wasn't a mad shout; it was fueled by pure shock and panic. "You must be joking!"

"No." Rose said. Esmeralda felt panic continue to rise in her chest as she started to pace the floor, holding her head tightly.

An hour? How on earth was she going to figure out what to say to Rose's mother—a woman she knew nothing about, not even her name—in an _hour_?

It was too much. She collapsed heavily onto her armchair, overwhelmed. She hadn't needed to impress anyone or deal with angry parents in such a long time, she wasn't sure she still knew how. "Merlin, is this a mess…"

They sat in silence for a while, and then suddenly Esmeralda felt her hands being held. She was shocked at the sudden contact—she hadn't realized how strange it would feel after so long—and looked up at Rose.

"Don't worry, my Mum will love you! You have so much in common; I mean, you like magical theories and so does she, you're excellent at transfiguration and she is to, you can turn into a cat and she…" Rose paused, and then pointed to the couch, "…can turn that sofa into a giant ball of catnip!"

Esmeralda didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted by that last scenario.

"The point is, you're the best friend I could ever ask for. You're like family to me—a big sister or an amazing aunt—and you two will hit it off splendidly!" Rose yanked her up, and quickly dragged her down the stairs into the basement flat. "Now let's go pick out what you'll wear and fix up your hair!"

"What's wrong with how I'm wearing it now?" Esmeralda couldn't help feeling more relaxed as she saw how excited Rose was getting. Maybe this meeting wouldn't go so badly after all.

"I want to braid it, that's what wrong with it," Rose exclaimed and quickly pulled out the hairpins that had been holding her bun in place.

***…***

By the time Rose was finished dressing Esme up, she was pleasantly surprised to find she had a flare for fashion. She had picked out a form flattering black dress, an even more flattering emerald tartan waistcoat, and to finish it off was a mid-length emerald shrug with some lace at the neck (it had been a spring jacket, but modifying clothes was relatively easy for her—she did it often while at Hogwarts). It was just the sort of thing a bookshop owner should wear, and still she had that air of authority one would expect, not to mention she looked absolutely beautiful. Perfect. All the bases were covered.

Although, Rose couldn't help but take some advantage of Esmeralda's cluelessness and had braided an emerald green ribbon into her thick black hair. It looked so pretty!

Upon seeing her finished work, she wondered if she should try setting Esmeralda up on a date or something… she was too pretty to be single.

"You're sure the ribbon isn't a bit much?" Esmeralda had asked upon inspecting herself in a full-length mirror on the wall, taking the braid over her shoulder and looking up close at it.

"Of course not, it's just right." Rose said. Plus she thought it made Esme look even younger and a bit friendlier, which would make her mother less concerned.

They heard the clock upstairs meow, signaling it was half past the hour. Rose had become confident that Esmeralda would dazzle her mother so completely that she wasn't in the slightest worried.

"Alright, I'm going to get Mum." Rose said. As they walked back up the stairs into the backroom of the shop, Esmeralda took a breath, though Rose wasn't sure if it was to resign herself to her fate or to calm down. "It'll be great, don't worry."

"Does your mother care for Ginger Newts?" Esmeralda asked. Rose thought about it for a second.

"She never used to, but I find she has as of late. That should be fine."

"And tea?"

"Look, whatever you feel like making I'm sure will be fine. Now go on then, I have to get Mum." Rose had stopped Esmeralda from asking more questions and left promptly.

***…***

Of course, it wasn't until Rose had left and Esmeralda was putting the kettle on and getting the Ginger Newts out that the older witch realized something, and she slapped herself in the head.

"Damn it, Minnie, you didn't ask for the woman's blasted _name!"_

***…***

Hermione had been shocked to learn that her little girl's friend had been a full-grown woman who owned that odd bookstore she had seen four years ago. At first she had been angry, but when Rose explained that the woman, Esmeralda, had thought she had already told her and Ron about the store, she redirected her annoyance at her child.

"She was right, you should have," she had said.

"I know," Rose had mumbled. "She's going to be upset with me enough as it is when I tell her I didn't."

Well, of course she wanted to meet the woman as soon as possible. She had planned on going to the shop for a surprise visit, but Rose had begged her not to.

"I don't want you lawyering my friend around," Rose had said. "She's like an aunt to me, or a big sister; the last thing I want is for you to scare her off."

…

Now, after coming straight from the Ministry, she was sitting at a café waiting for her daughter to show up. She looked at the watch on her wrist, annoyed. Rose had said that she was going to take the floo network and meet her there, but the girl was ten minutes late.

"Hey Mum!" Hermione looked up to see her daughter, standing with an excited smile. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"Why are you so clean?" Hermione arched a brow when Rose seemed to be shocked at the question.

"Oh—I decided to fly my broomstick instead."

"Dear, you—!" started Hermione, but she quickly dropped it. She would give her a lecture about flying some other time. "Alright, fine, fine. Now, are you ready to take me to your friend? What was her name again? Miss…"

"Her whole name is Madam Esmeralda Emerald." Rose said, trying to be clear as possible. "You can call her Madam Esmeralda, but _I_ call her Esme."

"Yes, of course." Hermione sighed a bit before standing up from her seat. She followed her daughter as the girl hurried along the street down towards the bookshop. Of course, she already knew where the store was—it was hard to forget the place once you saw it.

Once they got to the door, she saw the 'closed' sign up. Rose just turned the knob anyway, and it opened easily for her. Hermione was about to question this when Rose turned to her, the excitement still evident but also some nervousness, and spoke in a soft voice.

"Please give her a chance. She's very nice, and she's been nothing but kind to me."

"If she's such a nice person, I'm sure we won't have any problem, Rosie." Hermione said. She meant it, too, but she wasn't sure if her daughter believed her. When had she become the parent her kids assumed would freak out?

Rose entered the shop, and Hermione followed. Inside, she felt both pleasant warmth and a dull ache. The smell of ginger mixed with parchment lingered in the room, filled to the brim with ancient books of magical studies of all kinds.

As they walked further into the shop, Hermione was surprised with how cozy it was; from the outside, she expected something straight out of Knockturn Alley—a dark room of death—instead it was almost like stepping into a personal library; a home. It was a wonderful atmosphere, and she found herself smiling. She had a feeling that she and this woman would get along just fine.

"Esme, we're here!" Rose went around the front counter through the curtain-covered archway to where, Hermione assumed, was the backroom. It seemed her daughter had made herself at home. She would have followed, but she didn't want to seem presumptuous. After all, she had to make a good impression too.

She heard the clinking of pots—was there a kitchen back there?—and she decided to check herself with a mirror spell while she was alone.

Since she had come from work, she was wearing a nice, purple low cut dress-suit and a white shirt beneath the jacket, a gold chain that hung to her chest, and a pair of simple golden stud earrings—some of the few pieces of jewelry she owned. She fixed up her hair a bit, which was pulled back into a French twist, save for a few strains. Upon further inspection, she decided to unbutton two of the top buttons on her shirt beneath the jacket, giving her a more casual and relaxed look. Professional, motherly, but not stiff. Perfect.

She quickly finished the spell when she heard feet coming closer and stuffed her wand into her sleeve. When she turned around, she saw Rose coming out from the back room and waving for her to follow.

"Come on, Mum. Esme won't bite."

"Not much, anyway," came the voice of a woman from inside the backroom, obviously talking to Rose. A Scottish voice. A familiar voice. Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

Hermione's mind reeled as she slowly stepped forward. It felt like the walk to that archway suddenly became miles long.

_No, it's impossible._

There was it again. It was humming. It sounded closer—the woman was moving around the backroom, waiting.

_Dear Merlin…_ Hermione felt her heart speed up to a mile a minute. Her breath hitched. She felt her face flush as an image flashed in her mind. _It can't be…_

She barely registered when Rose looked at her oddly. "Mum?"

When the humming sounded like it was moving farther away, Hermione couldn't stand it. She crossed the store to the archway in four long strides, and ripped open the curtain.

In the haze of the lamp light, there stood a tall, elegant, beautiful woman—a vision of loveliness. She was facing away; her long black hair tied back in a braid with a green ribbon.

"Um, Mum, this is Esme. She owns this store. Esme, this is my Mum, she works in the Ministry." Rose said, but she didn't really hear her. The woman seemed to hear, though, and she turned around, holding a pretty plate filled with Ginger Newts.

"Ah, hello, Mrs. Weasl—" when their eyes met the blood drained from the woman's face, her friendly smile vanished to a look of absolute horror, and Hermione's heart stopped cold. The woman gave a shuddering gasp and the plate slipped from her elegant fingers.

It shattered on the ground.

***…***

No. No, this wasn't happening; she wasn't standing frozen in horror as _she _stood staring from the doorway of her store.

_She_ couldn't be Rose's mother… she couldn't be.

And yet, as her horrified eyes turned towards her young friend—the girl she had come to love dearly, like her own child—she saw the resemblance. The image of a young Hermione flashed within her mind and she cringed as a sharp pain pierced her heart.

The trademark thick bushy hair, the shape of her face, even the shape of her eyes…

_Oh God._

"Esme?" asked Rose in such a pure, innocent voice.

And the worst of it all was that she _was_ innocent. The girl couldn't know what caused her to feel such betrayal, such fear, and such anger all at once. She couldn't possibly have known that this would happen.

"Esme, what's wrong?" Rose reached towards her, and she recoiled. She instantly regretted it as a hurt expression came to the girl's face.

When she saw the flash of brown in the corner of her eye, with lightning speed she drew her wand and pointed it right at the other woman. Both now stood at the ready, neither willing to let down their guard.

Rose looked between them, horrified. "Mum! Esme! Stop it! What are you doing?"

"Rose, go outside," said Hermione, not once taking her eyes or pointing her wand away from her. She could see Rose hesitate in the corner of her eye.

"…best do as _Miss Granger_ says, dear," she told Rose, unable to hide her contempt. Hermione, for a moment, looked shocked and her eyes quickly seemed to look her over.

When Rose hesitantly paused within the doorway holding the curtain—looking worriedly, fearfully back at her—she just nodded, urging the girl to keep on walking. The curtain dropped, a moment later the door chime rung and the door loudly shut. Rose had left the store.

"It _is_ you." Hermione breathed. The wand never once lowered, but she saw Hermione's fingers ever so slightly loosen their grip.

In that instant, that breathy voice, all the old feelings came back, tainted by the painful realization that this girl, this woman, who she was even now still in love with despite it all, had married the one of the boys who had destroyed her life.

She felt a painful lump fast forming in her throat.

Oh Merlin—Hermione was with him. They had children. They were married. They were in love.

And now she was here—under the employment of the Ministry.

Flashes of that horrible night ripped through her mind, and a stabbing pain filled her heart as she remembered everything that happened after; Azkaban, living on the streets, forced to work with a degenerate wizard… and her jaw clenched. The painful lump stopped forming as she let herself be filled with contempt and a sense of self-preservation. She had to. She couldn't let her cursed feelings get the better of her.

After all, this girl was also responsible for her shattered previous life. If Hermione had taken her dalliances elsewhere, she would have never been in her office half-dressed when the Minister came… and if she hadn't been there, it would have been a normal interview… Minerva could have gotten a fair trial—she might even have been able to dodge the charges all together. Hermione was as much to blame as Weasley, or Malfoy, or any other student who had whispered against her.

Yes… yes, in the twenty-three years of the aftermath she had much time to replay the events of that night over in her mind. Every detail memorized, every possible outcome analyzed.

"I'm not going back."

"What?... No! I'm not going to…"

"Then leave."

"Miner—"

"Get. Out." Her voice was now dripping with such venom, she could almost taste it. She felt a queer sort of pleasure when Hermione cringed and moved back the tiniest bit, though she did not lower her wand.

***…***

Hermione felt her heart breaking. She didn't dare leave—for fear that when she did the woman before her would vanish forever. She couldn't take it. Not after so long. There was so many things she needed to say, there was so much she had to ask.

How long had Minerva been here in Diagon Alley? How long had she been living among the witches and wizards? Why did she look so… young?

And Rose…

As Hermione thought of her daughter, and thought of the situation, all those little curiosities in her daughter's behavior became clear, and she felt anger build up higher and higher inside her, hot, furious anger.

"I am not going anywhere."

"GET OUT—"

"You owe me an explanation!" Hermione barked at the other witch.

And the second those words left her mouth, she saw Minerva's eye twitch, and something snapped behind emerald green eyes.

It was deathly still. There were no sounds from the outside, no ticking from the clock on the wall, no creaking of the floorboards beneath their feet. Everything around them seemed to freeze in time, the only objects with motion, with life, were the two of them. Nothing else mattered.

"I... owe… you…" Minerva said the words slowly—fluently, as if processing them. The witch took a step. "_I…" _She took another, "…owe…" and then another. "…_you?"_

Hermione, for all her years and experience dealing with wild animals, and all her years of dealing with wild wizards, she felt her heart skip a beat as Minerva's face became more crazed with each step she took. Hermione stepped back, never once lowering her wand.

"Oh, Miss Granger…" whispered Minerva, her voice dark and frightening. "The only thing I _owe _you_…" _she spat the word _owe_ as if it were vile. "…is very slow, absolutely excruciating torture by a curse of the darkest nature…and I do mean something far worse than what your little mind is thinking of."

Hermione stared, dumbfounded at her sincerity.

"…but I couldn't do that to poor little Rosie. She would hate me. I couldn't let that happen." Minerva's eyes slowly softened… it was the thought of her daughter that caused this. Rose. Not Hermione.

She felt her anger come back at full force. How dare Rose hide this from here? How dare her child lie to her all this time?

How dare she be so close to Minerva?

Hermione lowered her wand, and felt herself tremble in horrible jealous anger. As she stared into emerald eyes, which held nothing but coldness, she felt tears sting her own. She couldn't stay—she would end up bursting into tears. She wouldn't be defeated like that. She refused.

"Fine. We'll be on our way..." Hermione practically growled in her frustration as she spun on her heel and stormed to the door. When she reached for the knob, her jaw clenched as she heard the woman call after her.

"By the way… _Rose_ is always welcome." Minerva said.

Hermione slammed the door behind her. Her daughter jumped and looked up at her with confusion. She just felt the fiery jealousy grow.

* * *

***.SEPTEMBER.***

Rose felt her throat burn. She was filled with an unimaginable loathing for her mother.

After bringing her mother to the bookshop, she had drawn her wand on her best friend! And what was worse, after being sent outside, when her mother came out, she forbad her from ever coming back to the store—no explanation, no reasoning, she just grabbed her arm and dragged her.

She had asked, and pleaded, and reasoned, and screamed… nothing worked.

She had given up last week, when one of their screaming matches had ended with a burning red handprint on her face. Her mother had looked positively horrified and guilty, said she was sorry, had begged forgiveness, had tried to hold her... Rose didn't care. She kicked her, screamed, "I hate you" and ran upstairs. They hadn't spoken since.

Even now at the train station, Rose didn't even look back at her mother. She considered looking out the window to look for someone special... but after what happened, she was afraid her friend would never want to speak to her again…

The thought brought tears to her eyes and she held herself. She didn't want to look and be crushed by the disappointment… but she did anyway. Her eyes scanned the crowd, but she saw nothing…

The tears were just about ready to fall when she saw a shifting in the crowd, and her eyes locked onto a tall figure. She gasped.

Even after everything that happened… even without being able to send a single letter for the past month… Esme had come to see her off.

Esmeralda stood in the crowd, blending in perfectly besides her too familiar emerald eyes and her crooked hat, staring right at her with a small smile. She waved. Rose sobbed in relief and waved back. For a moment, Esme looked worried, but Rose just smiled wide, happily, and she relaxed.

***…***

It was when Rose looked off into the crowd that Hermione realized _she _was there… she looked over the hundreds of heads and after a few minutes, she saw her.

The anger that she had felt for the past month almost vanished instantly when emerald eyes met hers through the crowd… and after the shock was gone, instead of hatred, what she saw was…

Sorrow.

And as confusing as it sounded, Hermione's heart fluttered… because it was the same sorrow she felt whenever she had thought about Minerva for the past twenty-three years…

The sorrow of having someone very dear lost to you forever.

Hermione knew Minerva once felt something for her… and she couldn't help but wonder if any of those feelings remained. She couldn't help it when she hoped deep within her heart that Minerva missed her just as much as she did.

When Hermione was freed from her thoughts, she had lost sight of Minerva in the thick crowd.

**…**

Three weeks later, she stayed up late waiting for Ron to come home from the ministry.

When Ron walked through the doorway into the living room, his face instantly went sour...

"Ron…" Hermione said very softly. "We need to talk."

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**Please review! I want to know what you thought about this chapter especially.**


	8. Spring 2021: Interlude

**AUTHORS NOTE:**  
**I'm very sorry about the long wait. On top of this website and its managers being... disagreeable... and there being a brief scare of my stories being deleted and being restricted for a long period of time,things have been hectic at home. However, my mother is doing alright. Well, not really alright; she's stable now though, and I'd like to thank everyone who sent her get well wishes. We both appreciate them. She didn't manage to get a nurse so I've been taking care of her. But that's enough about my life. After looking at the ending of the story, I decided it needed a bit of redoing. Seeing as I'm going to be rewriting the next three chapters (which are the last three) it will be a while before you'll get the next one. You all are extremely patient, and I appreciate that, you have no idea how much, so I decided to break from tradition of chapters to give you an interlude chapter. Hope you enjoy; and I'll have more for you (hopefully) soon.**

**I'd also like to give a shout-out to the facebook community for HG/MM, look them up, join-it's an awesome club!**

**Well here's your chapter, I hope you enjoy.  
**

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What Hermione really needed the day she'd had...hell, after the last six months she had... was a large glass of expensive wine, some soothing scented candles and a hot bubble bath. However, as she was now a single mother supporting herself, a mortgage, and her two children at school, she had absolutely no money for such luxuries. She settled for a bit of firewhiskey before bed.

After having a lengthy discussion with Ronald, they had decided to end the long, unhappy marriage and call it even. She hadn't heard from him in a few months; last she heard he had found some young Witch fresh out of school (well, maybe not fresh... she was somewhere between twenty and twenty five, she knew.) and was living in a flat with her somewhere in London.

Hermione didn't want him, of course, but it had still stung when she heard of this. Unavoidable, she supposed, with a bitter sense of loneliness—quickly smothered by the burn of the firewhiskey down her throat.

Now Hermione wasn't one to drown her problems with a bottle, but today, understandably, she had allowed herself this one cliché. Why? Simply put, she had gotten herself into a rather complicated situation.

After the past six months, she had begun to adapt to the absence of Ron in her life. She had gotten used to not waking up beside him, not cooking him breakfast, not falling into the toilet early in the morning because the daft man couldn't put the damned lid down (this was one of the more heavenly of changes in her opinion) and while it all seemed unnatural and strange, it wasn't what she would say, uncomfortable. During this time of adapting to the single life and changing paperwork and drowning herself in work—she had left out a small detail in the letters she sent her children while they were away at school…

That's right. She hadn't told them she and their father had gotten a divorce.

It hadn't been a conscious decision, mind. She just didn't really pay much attention to it. The letters she sent to Hugo and Rose were usually filled with praise for their accomplishments and replying to things they told her about—she didn't talk about herself or home at all, usually, and it simply hadn't managed to come up. Truth be told, the only time she honestly felt an unpleasant tingle, enough for her to actively think about her current situation, was when she would happen to notice the silence of the house around her, noting, inevitably and innocently, how empty and solitary it all was. Then, and only then, she felt alone… and she would do her damnedest to stifle the rising ache within her chest—because with that ache, came thoughts of things she didn't want. Thoughts, in particular, about the person she wished was with her, instead of that oppressive feeling of silent, heavy, empty air.

Hermione would tell herself she was being silly. It didn't work, usually… and her mind would wander, despite her best efforts, and always… always, end up at the same place.

Minerva.

The woman she loved for so long—the woman she thought was dead—was alive, well, and so close… so painfully close. A simple floo away.

There was so much she wanted to say to her, and so much that she needed to hear… but she couldn't do it. Not only had Minerva looked at her with such hatred, such sorrow, but the woman had plainly stated she wanted nothing to do with her.

On top of the pain of losing Minerva, again, she had been so enraged that the Scottish witch had spent so much time with her daughter, that she had almost destroyed the relationship between herself and her oldest child.

Or perhaps she had destroyed it, Hermione pondered briefly, looking down at the bit of firewhiskey left in the bottle.

She hadn't heard from her little Rosie in months. Not since she had sent her daughter a letter pouring out her heart—all the apologies she should have said before the girl had left for school, all the words she had been too angry at the time to say.

Rose hadn't replied, and Hermione felt a painful stab within her heart every time she recalled this fact.

As she tossed the almost empty bottle into the trash, she caught sight of the calendar posted on the refrigerator.

They would be home in a week... one week, and then she'd have to tell them. Perhaps she'd be able to find a way to do just that before then.

Suddenly, she felt very sick... but she knew it wasn't from the firewhiskey.


End file.
